Geoffrey Hunter and the Secret Society
by iwright
Summary: The students can hex you, their parents can curse you, your colleagues are all a little bit crazy, and a terrorist group wants to kill you. Other than that, being the new Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts is a pretty easy gig. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

All rights belong to JK Rowling. This story is in no way intended as a challenge to her vast and terrifying powers.

**Chapter One**

A Robust Argument For The Existence Of Magic

Who knew the Village of the Damned would have a tea shop?

Puddifoot's had to be the most ridiculously twee tea shop in the UK. Fake flickering gaslight, pink walls, frilly pink and white tablecloths, glittery pink paper stars drifting near the ceiling...

The paper stars were a nice touch, actually. I couldn't see any strings.

I gave the twitchy server the best smile I could. At that point it probably wasn't a very good one. A morning in Crazytown will ruin anyone's mood. But I couldn't look grumpy enough for her to be trying to hide behind her tray. "Hello. How are you today?"

She squeaked at me from behind her tray. Everyone in this village acted as though I had a bit of baby-flesh stuck between my teeth.

"I'd like a pot of tea, please. I don't need cream or sugar with it. And a food menu, if you've got one."

She nodded behind her tray and scurried off to the kitchen. The young girl wore pastel green and blue robes. All the people I'd met here wore some sort of robe or cloak. Was it a local fashion, or was there a festival coming up?

I sat alone in Puddifoot's. The tiny place was empty except for me. Did no one else in Hogsmeade drink tea? When I'd first come into the village I'd wondered if it were a tourist trap. Stone buildings with shingled roofs, Victorian-looking shops with displays of what were obviously high-tech toys, locals dressed in weird period costumes... It all looked like one of those fake villages the British liked to build to fleece tourists such as myself out of our freshly exchanged money.

But people had eyed me up and down when I walked up to them the way cops eye a homeless guy in a rich neighborhood. Outside of this village the English and Scottish people I'd met had all found my Canadian accent interesting. Here they flinched when I spoke. I'd asked the server if she was having trouble getting a cell - Pardon me, mobile - call through or if it was just my phone. She'd looked absolutely petrified by the question.

Speaking of the server, she came back carrying my tea and staring at me like I was a mad dog. Bit by bit, I started to realize what this village was about.

Stay polite, Geoff. Stay polite. "So is this the off-season here?"

The girl's hands were shaking as she put the tea pot down. A pink tea pot, of course. "O-off season?"

Robes, obviously fake architecture, terrified of outsiders... Right!

"I'm sorry," I said. "Is this a commune of some sort?"

She squeaked again and ran back to the kitchen. "All right then." I looked around the empty tea shop again. I caught a glimpse of someone staring through the window, but they ducked as soon as they saw me looking their way.

"I'll just leave my money and go," I said loudly. Obviously I'd stumbled into some sort of religious commune. I put five Pounds on the table, thinking that it was probably too much.

I got up and grabbed my rucksack and umbrella. Time to get out of Hogsmeade before the locals went all Wicker Man on me. I was almost to the door when it opened and a man in a dark red cloak walked in.

"There you are," he said. He had a little stick in his right hand. The tip of the stick glowed, and little swirls of light trailed off the tip and pointed at me. "We were looking for you down at the train station."

"Oh good." Don't babble, don't babble. "I was just on my way there. I have an appointment. Many people are expecting me."

The man opened the cloak and put his stick away. He wore a perfectly ordinary brown sweater under the cloak, and didn't at all look like a murderous fanatic. Except for the cloak. He stuck out his hand for me to shake.

"Neville Longbottom," he said. "Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts."

I shook his hand politely. He had a very firm grip. "Doctor Geoffrey Hunter. Professor of History at the University of British Columbia. On very short sabbatical at the moment. Expected back really soon."

Actually I'd quit outright five months ago. But I really wanted the locals to think people would miss me if I vanished. I started trying to edge around the robed lunatic. If I could just get to the door...

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Longbottom, but I really have to go." Damn he was good at blocking. I couldn't manage to shuffle, edge, or step past him.

"Go? Oh I hope not, Doctor Hunter. I think you're just the Muggle we're looking for."

I set my rucksack down on the nearest table and pulled out a chair. "'Muggle'? Is that a local expression, Professor?"

He looked a bit embarrassed. "Of a sort. It's what wizards and witches call a non-magical per- "

I bolted for the kitchen door. Hitting it hard with my shoulder I ran though into the tiny kitchen. The server and an older woman both scream as I looked frantically for the back door.

There! I heard a man yell something as I jumped for the door. I grabbed the handle and -

Stopped.

I couldn't move. At. All. I heard the server shriek "Get him! Get the Muggle!" And then the kitchen door slammed.

I could breath, but even that felt constricted. I heard someone moving behind me but couldn't even move my eyes to look. I stared ahead at the door as whoever it was walked up to me. Trapped door knob? Some sort of electrical stun?

I'd quit five months ago. No colleagues to look for me.

I'd moved to Montreal for a few months, but hadn't kept my apartment when I'd decided to travel on. No landlord or neighbors to notice I was missing.

I'd spent three days in London. No one there had really noticed me. Just one more tourist.

I'd gone to Scotland on a whim. I hadn't even rented a hotel room in Dufftown before jumping on the first train out. I'd come to Hogsmeade because the name sounded interesting.

Jessi and I had broken up eight months ago. We hadn't spoken in six.

I had no family.

I was going to die. I was going to be murdered by high-tech neo-pagans.

And no one would care or notice.

Longbottom leaned in to my field of view. "I apologize," he said. He actually sounded like he meant it. "Doctor Hunter, it's obvious that Hogsmeade Village has not been welcoming. I am truly sorry for that. My people can be very wary around outsiders. But I promise that you won't be harmed here."

He stepped back out of the edge of my vision. "I'm about to release you. You can leave Hogsmeade if you wish. No one will stop you. But I ask that you stay and speak with me for a few minutes. At the very least so I can apologize while you're not petrified."

He said a word and waved the stick - Some sort of dark polished wood - in front of my face. My muscles released all at once and I stumbled, banging my hip against the handle. I spun around to face Longbottom. He stood a few metres away from me, at the other end of the tiny kitchen. He held his hands at his sides as he smiled at me. Longbottom looked relaxed in the same way my former Tai Ch'i master looked relaxed just before she kicked my ass. I didn't think I could get past him, and I wasn't about to grab that obviously-trapped doorknob again.

"Is - Is this a commune?"

"No, not at all. We don't practice any sort of communal ownership of property. We are - " He stopped and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "We are a community of people who share a special talent. We call ourselves wizards and witches."

Right. Not a commune. Just a bunch of neo-pagans with a bad attitude towards outsiders. "Well, I, I apologize for trespassing, Professor Longbottom. When I bought the train ticket at Dufftown the clerk didn't mention anything to me."

"The fact that you even saw that wicket is very interesting. Doctor, I'd like to introduce you to one of my colleagues from Hogwarts. Would you care for a pint?"

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"We summoned yeh," said the huge man.

"Summoned?" And they were acting all crazy again. A pint of nicely spiced dark ale had taken some of the edge off, but now they were talking summoning...

"Yeah," said Rubeus Hagrid. Poor man had to be over eleven feet tall and nearly four across. How his heart hadn't failed yet I had no idea, but he looked fairly healthy under all that grey beard and hair. Longbottom and I had sat at a booth, while the bartender - Pubtender? Publican? - had brought Hagrid an oversized chair. He was obviously a regular. "Well, the Headmistress did. Really tricky bit o' magic." I watched as he downed half a pint in one swallow.

"As I said, we are a magical community." Professor Longbottom pulled his wand out from the inner pocket. "And Hogwarts is a school for magic. I teach Herbology, while Hagrid teaches Care of Magical Creatures."

How had I let him talk me into this? The customers in Hogshead pub seemed ordinary enough, aside from their clothes. I'd been startled by Hagrid obviously, but he was friendly enough man and it wasn't his fault he'd been born with severe acromegaly. And the beer was good. Butterbeer was an old-fashioned drink, similar to the Boston Flip Benjamin Franklin had been so fond of. At some point I had forgotten the people here were a bunch of religious nuts.

Longbottom swished the wand. "I've called Headmistress Grimward, but she's bit busy at the moment. School term starts soon, and we're short a teacher. So I'll have to demonstrate."

Oooh God. How was I going to get out of here? "That's all right, Professor. I don't need any demonstrations."

"Hagrid, are you done with your mug?"

The big man thunked his mug down on the table. "All yers," he said.

Tapping the mug with his wand, Longbottom looked me in the eyes. "Doctor, please name the first small item that comes to mind. Something with no moving parts, please. Transfiguration was never my strongest field."

"Fork." Door door door... No, there was no way I could get past Hagrid. Oooh God.

Longbottom stared at the mug. His wand shone with silver-blue light...

The mug shone with silver-blue light...

The fork shone with silver-blue light...

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"Rock."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"Picture canvas."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"Beret."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"Drink."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. One should never transmute an object into anything to be be eaten or -"

"No. I need a drink."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Two drinks in Neville tried to explain the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. I didn't really hear much of the discussion, being distracted by the singing pint mugs. Another drink or two later Hagrid started in on the Muggle-repelling Charms used to keep ordinary people away from places like Hogwarts. Then he demonstrated Stupefy on a customer who'd kindly volunteered for the role by groping the waitress. That led to a round of drinks with the man's 'friends', who obviously didn't think too much of him. One round led to another and another led to Neville levitating me across the pub while Hagrid pounded out a beat on the table and a ring of wizards Morris danced around me...

It was a very robust argument for the existence of magic.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course I'm not challenging JK Rowling's copyright. She's rich. She can afford assassins.

**Chapter Two**

First Impressions and Gainful Employment

One eye didn't want to focus properly. The other eye felt like someone was shining a flashlight right into it. My head and kidneys were pounding in time to each other. Good God, how many drinks had I had last night?

It took a minute to remember where I was. A bed, in a room with stone walls. I was at Hogwarts Castle. A dungeon?

Bedroom. Not dungeon. It couldn't be a dungeon. Sunlight poured in through a huge window, making it far too bright for a dungeon. Even if it was cold enough. I wrapped the blankets closer to me.

Someone pounded on the door with a hammer. No, they were just knocking.

"Doctor Hunter, are you awake?" A man's voice.

"_Shch_."

The door creaked open. In came Professor Longbottom, carrying a tray. His black robes swished loudly as he walked. "That's close enough to yes," he said. "You're American, so I brought coffee."

"K'nuden." I cleared my throat. "Canadian. Not American. Subtle difference, on account of being totally different."

I was still half-dressed in t-shirt and jeans. I sat up in bed and let the blankets fall away. "Ooooh God."

Longbottom set the tray down on a small wooden table and handed me a cup of something oily and green. "Drink this. It will help with your hangover. It's herbal, among other things."

I sipped the liquid carefully. It tasted like boiled twigs, but it didn't upset my stomach. In fact... I downed the rest of it quickly. My headache vanished.

Now that the room was in focus it was actually quite nice. Big stone fireplace, old heavily-upholstered furniture, a big green and silver tapestry on one wall. Still cold though.

I cleared my throat. "Whatever that was, I love it and want to marry it."

"Yes, I've felt like that once or twice myself. Coffee?"

I stood up and went looking for my canvas rucksack. The rug was nice and thick, but my feet were still cold. I needed a shirt and sweater and _socks_. "Yes please. What time is it?"

"Half-past seven. We put you on the east side of the castle, unfortunately. Mornings can be a bit bright if you forget the shutters."

I pulled on a heavy flannel shirt and found a good pair of wool socks. I hadn't packed much past a day's clothes and toiletries for my trip to Hogsmeade.

I sat in one of the thickly upholstered chairs, across the table from Professor Longbottom. I gulped down the first mug of coffee and poured myself another. My headache had vanished and my stomach felt fine. Even my kidneys were settling down.

"Still feeling poorly?"

"No." The coffee was excellent. "That green stuff... Was that a magic potion?"

"Yes. A fairly simple hangover cure. Brewed it myself."

"So... " I sipped more of the excellent coffee. Full-bodied, not overly roasted, slight after-taste of wine. "Magic?"

Longbottom smiled. "Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry_."

After the previous night I had no trouble believing in magic. There is something very real about Morris dancers.

"Doctor Geoffrey Hunter, formerly Assistant Professor of History at the University of British Columbia." I cleared my throat. "Not actually on sabbatical. I quit five months ago. Personal reasons."

"No employment ties then. Excellent. May I ask about your family?"

"I don't have one. I prefer not to talk about it."

Professor Longbottom leaned back in his seat. "We do need more information than that before we formally offer you a position. But for now it will do."

He ran his hand through his fair hair. Judging from yesterday and this morning, Longbottom's hair lived in a state of perpetual mess.

"I ask because Hogwarts is in need of an instructor. Two months ago our Board of Governors gave us permission to hire a Mu- Someone from outside our community, to teach a specific course. Their conditions were that this new instructor not have any direct family ties to our community, yet still have the ability to perceive magical creatures and magically hidden locations. They were also not to have any strong family ties to the outside world, and not have any strong institutional ties. Oh, and they were to be a qualified and experienced teacher."

"That's not the strictest candidate description I've ever heard, but it is the oddest."

"Yes. We put Summoning Charms on every university and international airport in Britain. Um, the UK and Ireland, you would say. We sustained them for two months before you flew in, trying to find a suitable candidate. The term starts in five days."

"Sounds to me like the Board didn't want you hiring a Muddle."

Longbottom winced. "Muggle. It's not a terribly polite word, but it is the only word we have to describe non-magical people."

Bits and pieces of what I'd been told last night came back to me. God, these people were like the Amish. If the Amish were armed. And magic. I wasn't seriously considering taking a job in Nowhere Town, County Nowhere, was I?

Except this was _Magic_ Town, County _Magic_.

I was two-thirds sold on the job.

"Professor, I need to know more before I say anything else. But I need breakfast even before that."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I gawked openly at the ceiling. I'd gawked at the paintings in the halls as well, and the paintings had preened under the attention. What was the point to being a Muggle in the magical world if you couldn't gawk?

The first thing that struck me coming into the Great Hall was the size of it. The hall was a huge open space intended for hundreds of people, and seemed empty with only one table at the moment. The second thing to strike me was the ceiling, or lack thereof. It looked like a clear sunny morning, with only a few pale skiffs of cloud across a blue sky.

"Is that transparent?"

"No," said Longbottom. "It's an illusion that matches the sky. You seem to have been blessed with good weather for your trip to Scotland. Best enjoy it while it lasts."

"Wow." I pulled myself away from the view. Longbottom led me towards a table at the end of the hall. There were only two other people at the long table, Hagrid and a man with dark red hair. Longbottom nodded to both.

"Headmistress Grimward can't join us just yet. You've met Hagrid," said Longbottom. "This gentleman is Idris Isgar, Potions Instructor, Professor of Arithmancy and occasionally Defence Against the Dark Arts. Also Head of Slytherin House, but we'll go into that later. Isgar, this is Doctor Geoffrey Hunter, from Canada not the States."

Right. I'd been a little snarky about that.

I shook hands briefly with Professor Isgar, who seemed about my age. I'd noticed that these men still called each other by their last names, despite probably having worked together for years. Ah, the English. Such a warm people.

Longbottom and I sat next to Professor Isgar, with Hagrid on the opposite side. I looked around for plates and cutlery while the others talked about the Headmistress, who was too busy to join us at breakfast. The joys of administrative work.

"What is your doctorate in?" Professor Isgar asked me.

"History," I said. "I did a double Masters in Military Science and European History, and my PhD in modern state relations in the North Atlantic regions. Um, how do I go about getting breakfast? Is there a cart somewhere?"

"What would you like?" Asked Professor Longbottom.

"Toast and bacon would be fine, with a bowl of oatmeal. Do you - _Yipe_!" And there was bacon. And toast. And a bowl of oatmeal. From nowhere. On gleaming golden plates.

"House-Elves," said Professor Isgar. "You'll get used to it."

"Will I get used to _that_?" I pointed at the pale silver figure drifting down the hall, coming towards the table. A translucent silver-grey woman dressed in an old-fashioned nun's habit, almost fully transparent in the daylight. As she came closer I could see that she looked quite young.

Professor Isgar shrugged and turned his attention back to breakfast. "Ghosts? Yes."

"Oh thank God," I said. She stopped and glared at me. "I'm _not_ crazy."

"Seen ghosts before, I take it?" Isgar asked me.

"Twice. Once when I was with a group of people who didn't see it." Given my age at the time and recent history, my psychiatrist had worried about a possible schizophrenic episode.

The nun smiled at me. "'At wisnae blasphemy 'en. Aa'm canty tae ken 'at."

I'd been to Scotland three times now, but that was the most backwoods accent I'd ever heard. "No, it wasn't blasphemy. But it was rude. I apologize, Sister."

She smiled again, then dived down through the floor and vanished.

I turned to Longbottom. "What? Just happened?"

"You've met a Grey Sister, one of the resident ghosts at Hogwarts. There are dozens, but for the most part they stay out of sight during summer. They find it boring with the students away."

Boring. House-Elves. Talking portraits. Wizards and witches. The _ghosts_ found it all boring.

What were the students like?

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

My first impression of the Headmistress's office was of carefully organized chaos. There were dozens of magical portraits along the round walls, almost all of the canvases occupied at the moment. The subjects of those paintings watched me with interest ranging from friendly to hostile. Shelves took up the space not occupied by portraits, and on those shelves were _devices_. Moving, shining, many-geared things that spun or wobbled or rocked or walked back and forth on their shelf. Neat rows of paperwork covered a gleaming white oak desk. Behind that desk hung a large portrait of a glaring man with black hair and shabby black robes. In front of that desk stood a woman with platinum blonde hair, dressed in tailored ivory pants and an ivory corset held closed with a big green bow. The woman stepped forward to greet me, her high heels clicking on the floor. She was shorter than my first impression, and looking down at her gave me a hell of a view. I shook her hand automatically as she looked me in the eyes.

My first impression of Galilea Grimward, Headmistress of Hogwarts, was that she took the _mistress_ part of her title very seriously. And that she had spectacular breasts.

She smiled, still meeting my gaze with her grey-green eyes, and said "Thank you Doctor. That's quite flattering."

_Oh_ _crap_.

Professor Isgar snickered. "Be good, Galilea. Don't make me report you."

Headmistress Grimward released my hand and walked back to her desk. My God, did she ever know how to walk in heels. Where had she gotten those boots and why was she wearing them at a _school_? And what just happened? I watched as she sat down behind her broad desk.

I took a seat between Neville and Isgar and asked "What just happened?"

"Legilimency," replied the Headmistress. She had what the English would call a posh accent. And a voice like whisky and honey. "Mind reading, in more colloquial language. Although there is nothing at all like 'reading' to it. And despite what Professor Isgar says, as Head Teacher I am authorized to perform simple examinations under certain circumstances."

"Such as hiring a new teacher?" Casual mind-reading in a job interview. How often did she do that? Could all witches and wizards do that?

"In this case I was searching for impulses that would make you unsuitable for work with minors."

I considered that for a minute. Mind-reading, Legilimency... I would need to know a lot more about it and what those _certain circumstances_ were. But it seemed reasonable as a preliminary step in hiring someone to teach -

I sat up straighter in my chair. "Minors? You know I was a university professor, right? My youngest students were typically eighteen. I had one sixteen year old student. But she was an exception. Brilliant, and very mature for her age." Not so mature that I hadn't had to take her aside and explain why a twenty-one year old _boy_ who was still interested in teen-age girls might be bad news. But that was a one-off. She'd graduated three years later with a very nice freshman boyfriend.

"Yes, I understand. You will have my complete support, as well as assistance from your colleagues as needed. These curriculum changes have been a project of mine since I became Headmistress. I am dedicated to success in this project."

"And to proving the Board wrong," said Longbottom, sitting at my left. On the other side Isgar laughed slightly.

I thought about what little I knew of this Wizarding Britain. It couldn't be very big. Hogsmeade had a High Street and a few side streets. It was isolated from the outside world, and happy that way. The Board of Governors obviously did not want to bring in a Muggle instructor, and had thrown as many roadblocks in the way as possible. And I'd be teaching minors, for God's sake. I'd worked as a tutor in my undergrad days but that had all been one-on-one rather than classroom experience. Under those circumstances, with less than a week to prepare any sort of curriculum...

"Doctor Hunter?" Yes, that voice would definitely get a man's attention. I crawled out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, I tend to zone out when I'm thinking." I looked around the office for a second, considering. "Explain the position to me."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

When Galilea Grimward says "Let me start at the beginning", she means it.

The term 'mudgel' is of unknown but probably mixed Celtic-Danish etymology, and first appears in the _Chronicles of the Veneficus Consilio_ for the year 894. It was not used in a flattering context, and is the root of both the modern term Muggle and a crude expression for people born of mixed Muggle and Wizarding parentage.

"I tell you this so you know just how deep the prejudice runs."

Wizarding Britain retreated into total Seclusion in the late Seventeenth Century, and within four generations found themselves in a severe demographic crisis. Their stagnant population had simply not been large enough to sustain an independent economy. Their solution, after decades of debate, was to open themselves slightly to the outside world. Beginning in the early Nineteenth Century Hogwarts began to actively seek Muggle-born students.

Grimward didn't say, but I wondered about another reason for opening Hogwarts to outsiders. The Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries saw rapid population growth in the United Kingdom. If the isolated Wizarding population had stagnated while the Muggle population grew, that would have also meant an increase in the absolute number of Muggle-born wizards and witches. What good is Seclusion if the Muggle-borns rediscover magic on their own?

Shortly thereafter, Hogwarts added Muggle Studies to the curriculum. The Muggle population was exploding, Muggle technology undergoing a revolution, and the number of Muggle-born students seemed to swell every year. Wizarding Britain felt the need to understand the world around it, at least on a basic level. The Board of Governors approved a new class and prepared the study materials -

And then the Ministry of Magic stepped in.

"This is a Ministry-approved textbook for Fifth Year students." Grimward's wand was thin and ivory in colour, decorated with green filigree and a silver cap. She twitched it and a book floated off her desk over to me. I took the book from the air and opened it to a random page.

_Muggles live behind a barrier of ignorance, one maintained by their own will to not know. Their distaste for all things Magical extends to members of their own family who display the slightest supernatural ability. The emergence of Magic in Muggle society threatens the investment of self-legitimation within Muggle thought._

"Hooo-kay." I closed the book with a snap. "That one's off the curriculum. What've you got that's not full of crazy?"

Longbottom and Isgar both laughed.

The Headmistress shook her head. "I assure you, Doctor Hunter, that _The Philosophy of the Mundane_ is the least 'crazy' of our textbooks. Would you care to read _When Muggles Attack_?"

"Later. Headmistress, as a responsible educator I can't possibly turn this job down. Let's talk terms."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Five hundred Galleons per month for a ten-month school year, room and board available at Hogwarts, medical treatments provided by the Hogwarts' infirmary or St. Mungo's Hospital, basic Occlumency lessons provided by the Headmistress herself, an expense account for professorial robes - Including the specialized wards I would probably need to defend myself against a bunch of jinx-throwing children...

Excellent terms for a very junior assistant professor at a small institution. Except for the Obliviation clause.


	3. Chapter 3

All rights to the Harry Potter setting and characters are owned by J.K. Rowling, Queen of Blood and Fire.

Madhouse lyrics by Zale Dalen, from the soundtrack to Terminal City Ricochet. That movie really doesn't hold up as well as I remembered it, but the soundtrack kicks ass.

**CHAPTER TWO**

Take A Look At My Madhouse

Two days and much heavy reading later, Neville and I went to Diagon Alley. I caught a train into London, giving me more time to make notes in my copy of _A_ _History_ _Of_ _Magic_. Bathilda Bagshot would have flunked a 100-level history course at any halfway decent institution, but as a collector of folklore she was clearly first-rate. I filled the margins of _A_ _History_ _Of_ _Magic_ with enough notes to block out the original text on some pages.

My other reason for taking the train was simple exhaustion. House-elves in the rafters and under the bed, talking portraits that claimed to date to the Middle Ages but wore Early Modern clothes, bored poltergeists, lonely ghost-nuns, Hagrid's stable of winged skeletal horses... I needed an escape, and a train through Scotland and England was a perfect chance to rest.

I'd caught up with Neville at his wife's pub, although I'd just missed meeting her, and now stood in a street that simply didn't have room to exist. It was just another impossible thing, the third one that morning. That impossibility was the last thing on my mind at the moment though.

"To borrow an English phrase, what's a Galleon when it's at home then?"

"One Galleon is seventeen Sickles. One Sickle is twenty-nine Knuts. The current exchange rate is five Pounds to the Galleon."

"What? Neville, I'm a history teacher. I'm going to need a calculator if you bring maths into this."

Neville and I stopped by a sweets shop. The window display centred on candy frogs swimming in a chocolate fondue, and the children watching through the window looked as though they'd been hypnotized. Maybe they had. What kind of advertising did magical shops use?

"A small nice flat on Diagon Alley is about one hundred twenty Galleons a month, maybe a bit more. A pint of one of the cheaper brands is three Sickles. You'll find food a little less expensive here than in Muggle Britain. Seventh Year textbooks cost anywhere from nine to fifteen Galleons per. School supplies for a First Year student are, oh, about fifty to sixty Galleons, all things included."

"Thanks. That helps put it into perspective." Five hundred Galleons per month for a junior professor. Not bad at all.

Where Hogsmeade was Britain's home town, Diagon Alley was its High Street. It looked a bit like the touristy areas of London, Victorian style bay-window displays jumbled together with Georgian Chinoiserie awnings and Jacobean brickwork. Gaudy as hell, but nowhere near as bad as the people.

I watched two women walk by wearing long-hooded Jacobean cloaks over dresses straight out of the Victorian Aesthetic movement. But the brilliant colours of the dyes were purely modern. Everyone on the street wore a similar jumble of styles, although the trend seemed to be towards a mix of very early and very late Victorian dress. Younger women all seemed to favour pointed sugar-loaf hats, older preferred bonnets. And Neville wore a dark red short-sleeved robe over his otherwise ordinary jeans and brown sweater.

I took a closer look at the children watching the sweets display. Their robes were made of biased-cut fabrics, a technique popularized in the early Twentieth Century. And while their other clothes seemed out of date, like something from photos of my grandparents, they weren't archaic. I watched as a young mother collected one of her children from the front of the shop. It was hard to be certain without staring, but I thought she was wearing modern-style underwear.

"Neville, how much of this - " Saying 'is an act' would definitely be rude. "How do witches and wizards dress when you're at home?"

"Well, my Muggle-born friends say we're fifty years out of date at best. And some of the old Pureblood families are closer to a century behind the times. We keep the robes and cloaks for dressier occasions."

"Such as being seen on High Street?" This was starting to sound very New York.

Neville waved at someone across the street. I'd noticed he seemed to know a lot of people. "Yes. Diagon Alley is where people go to be seen. If you just want a quiet day out I recommend Hogsmeade, although it doesn't have the full range of shops."

Oh Hell no I wasn't going back to Hogsmeade. Well, maybe the Hogshead. But that was it.

"Well, I'd better get my new wardrobe." People weren't staring, but my jeans sweater blazer combo was drawing glances.

"Madam Malkin's is right across the street," said Neville. "There are better shops, and there are cheaper shops, but Malkin's is a good full-range shop."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Sports uniforms, formal robes, school uniforms, casual clothes... Neville hadn't been exaggerating when he'd called Malkin's a full-range store. Menswear was at the back, past the school uniforms. Some of the children gawked at me before being corrected by their parents. A few of the parents stared themselves.

"Neville, these clothes are... " I picked up the sleeve of an orange robe. Orange, with green highlights and silver glitter around the sleeve-cuffs. "Words fail me. Really."

"That one is garish even by wizarding standards," said Neville. "I think there's a reason it's been marked down. Maybe further back here... "

We mined through ugly for a good ten minutes, finally breaking through to a vein of merely out of date. Although that one jacket...

"Neville, have you heard of Neo-Victorian fashions? Or steampunk?" They were out of style now, but the looks had been big when I was a student. Jessi had bought a lot of those clothes for me. She'd said I had the right _feel_ for a retro look.

"No. What did you have in mind?"

I showed Neville the jacket. "If we could find more to go with this, I already have some clothes that should match. And they'll match the robes I'll need for the classroom."

"Ah, Teddy Rough. I wore something like that in my Auror days." He must have seen the look on my face. "I'll explain later. We should find a clerk to help."

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

A long jacket in warm brown with matching pants, green vest with gold stitching, and an off-white shirt with tab-less collar. Steampunk, Teddy Rough, call it what you will, I looked good. I also looked like an escapee from the set of Dr Who, but when in Diagon Alley...

Neville handed the clerk a business card and told her to send the rest on to Hogwarts, putting the whole thing on my expense account. We left Malkin's with me feeling far less conspicuous.

"On to Gringotts next. It's almost time for your appointment." Neville led the way down Diagon Alley. I trailed along, enjoying the sights. A window-display of an orrery caught my attention, a gleaming brass model of the Solar System with slowly orbiting parts that didn't seem to be connected by gears. Beautiful, but there was no price-tag on it. The other small miracles in the window made it clear that this was the kind of shop where if you had to ask the prices you couldn't afford it.

"Have you thought any about your course syllabus?" Neville asked me.

"Yes. My first thought was to have the students read the standard textbooks out loud, with me laughing maniacally whenever they hit a particularly stupid bit." _When_ _Muggles_ _Attack_ had been pure comedy gold.

"That seems a bit harsh. Particularly for the First Years."

"'Harsh'. Please, I've seen the course load for Potions. But no, I've decided to go with a focus on the Victorian Era, particularly daily life in the UK, for all years. Might be a bit uncomfortable for the Irish students though, I can't believe you still go by those old borders. But anyways, that leads directly into the Postmodern Era up to the Oil Crisis and the end of the Bretton Woods system - "

"I have no idea what you've just said."

"Classes begin in three days. Bring your notepad. The point is there are easily-available age-appropriate materials for Victorian days, and I can assign class projects to bring them up to speed on current affairs." Muggle Studies was now mandatory for all First through Third Years with no immediate Muggle family. I suspected my boss held a political agenda. "That shouldn't make the Pureblood parents too nervous."

"Seems like a sound choice," said Neville. "Here we are. Gringotts."

"Yeah." I took at a look at the building we'd stopped in front of. "This would have to be it."

Four stories of clean white marble, with columns and arches and a grand staircase leading to bronze doors. Classic bank architecture. The sort of building that said the owners loved money like they loved their mothers.

Those bronze doors opened into an entrance hall of dark marble and wood, and another set of bronze doors. Where a Muggle bank might have its logo and motto, the inside doors had a warning:

_In accordance with the Treaty of 1999, the management of Gringotts Wizarding Bank reserves the right to assassinate counterfeiters, forgers, and utterers of base coin._

I chuckled as we passed through those doors. "I've decided that I like goblins. Where were these guys during the foreclosure crisis?"

"I'll never know what you're on about, will I?"

Two tiny, skinny creatures in immaculate red and silver livery bowed to us as we entered. A third goblin in a dark red three-piece suit and pointed cap checked his watch. "Professor Longbottom, Professor Hunter, precisely on time. Follow me please."

The little goblin lead us through the front of the bank, past long rows of goblins working at tiny tables. We went up a flight of well-worn marble stairs, past a wall lined with pictures of long-faced pointy-nosed bankers who glared and muttered as we went by. Goblins and wizards had a long history together, very little of it happy. Only two decades ago the Ministry had tried to seize the assets at Gringotts.

We stopped at a panelled door. The goblin knocked briefly, then opened the door and gestured us in.

The office was another old-fashioned space, dark wood walls and thick rugs on hardwood floors. There was a fire, a log burning away in a small stone fireplace. Too small for the Floo Network, I noticed. A human in dark reddish-brown robes with gold trim stood waiting for us. He wore his red hair long, and scars marred his face.

He shook Neville's hand and smiled warmly. "You're looking well. How's Hannah?"

"Too busy, as always. And Fleur?"

"Swamped. The Daily Star is terribly understaffed. They need at least two more writers."

The red-haired man smiled at me. I knew all the jokes about British teeth, but this guy looked as though he'd sharpened his canines with a file.

"And this must be Hogwarts's new Muggles Studies professor."

"Bill, let me introduce Professor Geoffrey Hunter. Geoffrey, this is Bill Weasley, Senior Security Auditor for Gringotts."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley." We shook hands briefly and then Weasley led us over to the chairs in front of his desk. I sat in the chair farthest from the fire. "Senior Security Auditor? I'm surprised you're handling something like this."

Weasley sat down and adjusted his robes. "There were a few strings pulled. The Headmistress called the Ministry, the Ministry called my father, and my father called Gringotts. But it truly isn't as simple as opening a new account. To begin with, a number of our standard banking contract terms require the client to be able to cast spells."

Neatly locking just over 20% of the 'Wizarding' population out of the financial system, leaving them dependent on their families or wealthy patrons. I kept my mouth shut about that.

Bill Weasley went on. "And there are other security matters. Hogwarts has not yet made a formal announcement regarding your status, but there are rumours. Which reminds me, aside from the Star and the Prophet, the Wizarding World Weekly has managed an invitation to tonight's event."

"What? How?" Neville looked genuinely shocked.

"I don't know the Weekly," I said. "Is that a paper?"

"One of the new lot." Neville shook his head. "And short of Wet Witches Watcher it's the worst of them all. Owned by the same people."

"It's pretty awful," said Weasley. "So mind who you talk to tonight. Otherwise the news of Hogwarts's Muggle professor will break next to the Weekly's Witch of the Week."

Today was Tuesday. The plan called for a press conference at Hogwarts late Thursday afternoon, with the new school year starting Friday. In theory that meant the news would break Friday morning, not giving the public time to work themselves into a real frenzy before start of year. In practice I thought it would just mean the panicked hordes would descend on Hogwarts over the weekend, waving lawsuits and angry letters to the editor.

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey?"

"Oh. Sorry, Neville. Just thinking about pitchforks and burning torches."

Weasley laughed, but it wasn't a particularly friendly sound. "You should visit my brother's shop. Pick up a few of his special items."

"That's next on the list," said Neville.

"Good," said Weasley. "On to business. Professor Hunter, Gringotts has borrowed some language from Muggle banking contracts, so that ought to be familiar to you. We've also borrowed some language from the Obliviation clause of your teaching contract... "

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

"All right, Geoffrey? You look a bit sour." That was Neville, waiting with his wife Hannah for me to finish getting dressed. Hannah was a lovely woman with brown eyes, blonde hair, and obviously more dress sense than her husband.

I was in no position to snark about Neville's bland robes. I'd failed twice at knotting my tie, the only one I had that went with my new clothes. I untied it and started over.

"I'm feeling a bit of stress, yeah. I'll be Obliviated if Hogwarts decides to let me go, or if I decide not to stay on at the end of the year. I'll be Obliviated if I reveal the existence of Gringotts to a Muggle, or discuss the terms of my surety bond with anyone other than a goblin. And your friend George will Obliviate me if I tell anyone about his new Ministry-approved line of Shield-Charmed underpants. And I've obviously already been Obliviated, because I can't remember how to tie a damn tie!"

I sighed and apologized to Hannah and Neville. He was probably used to my grumpy self, but I wasn't making much of a first impression on my friend's wife. But really, being threatened with a memory-wipe for revealing the existence of special magic underpants? Not the sort of thing to leave you in a good mood.

And I was starting to feel that Teddy Rough had not been the best choice of looks. Any style with the word 'rough' in it is probably not what you want to wear to meet the people ultimately responsible for your paycheque. Wool shirt with leather patches, gold cuff pins, coarse silk vest, heavy denim pants, leather belt with gold buckle, leather boots with far too many gold buckles...

I went at my tie again. "Are you sure this is acceptable for a formal dinner?"

"You'll do fine. I wore similar outfits to dozens of Ministry meetings in my Auror days."

"Great," I muttered. "I'm going to an academic formal dressed like the local equivalent of a SWAT cop."

At least Hannah laughed.

Finally I got my tie right. I straightened my shirt collar and buttoned up my vest. One look in the mirror told me I was wearing way too much brown and tan, but at least it wasn't dark. Hopefully the green and gold tie would add enough colour that I wouldn't blend in with the furniture. As for the rest of me, my mixed Scots-English heritage meant that no one in Britain would give me a second glance. Average height, hazel eyes, neatly trimmed goatee, slightly shaggy brown hair... If you needed an extra to walk through the background of a scene and not be noticed, I was your man.

I grabbed my semi-formal short-sleeved robe - Brown, of course, with a green lining - and pulled it on. "Ready. So, Apparating. What's that like?"

Neville and Hannah walked over to me, Neville wrapping his wand-arm around his wife's waist. He grabbed my arm with his free hand. "It's something like this."

What's Apparition like? Pressure, and darkness. Crushing darkness from all sides and cold. Crushed down down by all the weight of the world. And release.

And now we were standing in a large empty room, blandly decorated with dark paint and wood panelling. The worn hardwood under my boots felt comfortably solid. I swayed slightly as Neville held my arm.

"Feeling ill at all?" Hannah looked concerned.

"No. Just dizzy. That is not a pleasant way to travel." I shook my head and took deep breaths.

A series of sharp cracking noises rang out, and three people Apparated in. Deputy Headmaster Theobrosan to one side, and the Headmistress and Professor Isgar arm in arm on the other. None of them looked off balance.

Thank God Grimward was wearing somewhat modest ivory and green robes. It's never a good idea to lust after your boss and a colleague's girlfriend at the same time. Particularly not when those are the same woman.

She looked me up and down. "A bold choice. I approve. And how was your first little jaunt, Professor?"

"He did extremely well," said Neville. "Not sick at all."

He turned back to me. "Most people vomit after their first Apparation."

"Great. Thanks for the warning."

"Excellent," said the Headmistress. "Professor, do you remember your briefings?"

"If anyone wants to talk Wizarding politics, smile pretty and act dumb. If anyone wants to talk Muggle politics, bore them with a treatise on the evolution of the Westminster Model under Queen Victoria. And whatever I do, don't talk about the war." Several important members of the Board of Governors had managed to pick the wrong side of both Wizarding Wars.

"Yes. And for goodness sake Professor Hunter, stop frowning. This is a party. I require you to enjoy yourself."

I followed the others out of the Apparation Room. The Ministry of Magic's facilities under Whitehall had been built to impress the population, and their main atrium showed it. Huge brick arches supported a brilliant blue ceiling covered with shifting gold emblems. Dark well-polished wood panels covered the walls, and the hardwood floor gleamed with layers of ancient wood stain. Gilded brick fireplaces lined the walls, and every minute or so a wizard or witch would emerge from a whoosh of brilliant green flame. I looked away from the emerald fire to the other end of the atrium. I could see a few people leaving the atrium through a set of golden doors at the far end from us.

"Oh good," said Hannah. "We're here before the mob. Lets go."

In the centre of the floor stood a simple fountain, where water spilled down over names engraved in a dark marble block. I'd skimmed two books on the First and Second Wars, and knew I was in the company of people with family or friends named on that cenotaph. We passed the fountain without comment.

As we passed through the golden doors I heard the Floo Network flaring behind us. The main body of guests were arriving. Hannah Longbottom picked up the pace towards the elevators - Lifts, sorry.

"I get enough of crowds at work, thank you." Hannah led us towards an open lift with a waiting attendant.

The lift had that air of shabby wealth you find at old institutions. The wood and brass fittings were worn down by decades of use, the golden safety ropes hanging from the ceiling slightly frayed from thousands of hands. I could see Hannah's point about not wanting to wait around for the rest of the guests to crowd in. The lift was packed with six of us plus the attendant.

Headmistress Grimward and Professor Theobrosan were there as official representatives of Hogwarts. Professor Isgar was there as the Headmistress's guest. Professor Neville Longbottom was a war hero, and his wife was no slouch in that bit of history as well. Tonight it fell to me to play the role of Official Conversation Piece, giving the other guests something to whisper about.

While the Head Teacher and the Board of Governors controlled Hogwarts, the Department of Magical Education controlled the examinations system. Hogwarts and the DME held different ideas about what academic standards were needed for various levels, and the DME longed to seize Hogwarts's purse-strings from the Board. Formal events like tonight were intended to bring all sides together in an atmosphere of cooperation and collegiality, opening the way for an open and respectful working relationship.

Two years ago a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had Hexed the DME Head over after-dinner drinks. The DADA professor retired soon after, citing 'personal reasons', but the DME Head still held a grudge.

The lift vomited us out into a lobby, part of the Ministry's facilities for formal events and announcements. The lobby décor...

Icing-sugar white walls with glittering pink trim, gleaming pink and green marble pillars, a ceiling of ice-green above matching carpet, paintings of cherubs and unicorns gambolling in forests, all lit by glowing wisps circling the pillars and a translucent Ministry _**M**_ shining below the ceiling.

"God," I said. "It's like Puddifoot's on a higher budget."

The Headmistress shushed me, but she didn't argue. This was money without taste or restraint, formal décor as seen through the eyes of a rabid tweenaged girl.

We presented our invitations to the thug outside the lift. His footman's uniform fit him like a glove, but I'd been to enough formal events to recognize security when I saw it. With our bona fides presented he bowed us over to the other guests, already starting to queue up by the main doors.

"Is the dining hall like this?"

"Not at all," said the Headmistress. "The hall was built under the supervision of Bergholt Stuttley Johnson himself, and is quite lovely. It was originally intended as an interrogation chamber. I should warn you, do not under any circumstances approach the ornamental fountain."

I chuckled politely while adding that to my long mental list of Wizarding In-Jokes.

Another thick-necked footman greeted us as we approached the queues. Neville turned to me. "Any questions before we part company, Geoffrey?"

"Nah, the etiquette hasn't changed much in nearly a century and a half. And if I screw up I'll just play the Ignorant Foreigner card."

I'd met Madeleine Jessica Gagnon at a formal dinner. It took us three seconds to fall in love and three years to realize it was just lust.

The footmen led us away to our respective places in the lines. As the highest-ranking woman at this event the Headmistress would sit at one end of the table with our host, the Head of the Department of Magical Education. The Regent of the Board of Governors would sit at the other end with our hostess, the Head's wife. The other professors were likewise fairly high-ranking in their own rights, and would be seated near the ends of the table. Hannah and I were to be banished to the middle of the table, although Hannah would be closer to the end than me. There were some differences from Muggle etiquette but for the most part it was all familiar to me.

We'd back-and-forthed for half an hour at Hogwarts over my academic ranking. The school didn't have an exact equivalent to a PhD and dual Masters, but we'd finally straightened that out. Then we'd gotten into a furious exchange of owls and Floo Network messages with the Ministry over order of precedence. The result of nearly two hours of argument was that I would be seated with the few Office Assistants (Junior Grade) well-connected enough to be sent to an event like this.

As I'd been told to expect there were two queues, one for each sex. In the men's - Wizards - line I found myself standing between, judging by their clothes, a rich kid and a civil servant. I'd expected some social snobbery at tonight's event, but the rich kid looked at me like I was something headless the cat had dumped on his pillow. He turned away from me without a word. The older man, the one I took to be some sort of civil servant, looked at me nervously and then looked at the rich kid. Then he studied his boots intently, not speaking to me.

It wasn't my clothes. Neville or the Headmistress would have said something. Word had obviously gotten out that the new Hogwarts professor was a _Muggle_.

To hell with it. If the people weren't going to talk to me, I'd take the time to study them. Between the ones already in line and the guests pouring in from the lifts, I could see that my clothes really had been a bold choice. Neville wore the scholarly black robes preferred at Hogwarts, but for the most part wizards and witches liked bright colours. I'd known this, but hadn't anticipated just how vivid this group would be. There was a wizard in a sky-blue cloak over peach-coloured robes, a witch in leaf-green robes with gold trim, one old-fashioned gentleman wearing a bright red pointy cap and scarlet robes trimmed with white fur, a witch wrapped in a truly amazing full great-kilt in blue and bronze tartan...

The footmen showed the last arrivals to their places in line, just in time for the doors to the dining hall to swing open. I ignored the arrival of Grimward and the Head of the DME, instead watching the witches' queue as it moved forward. If I'd counted the number of guests properly, I'd be seated between a redhead in green silk and a brunette in translucent layers of pink and white gauze. Who cared if the men didn't want to talk to me?

The queues came together just before the doors to the dining hall, and I found myself paired with the redheaded witch. A footman bowed politely and introduced me to Jezebel Rosier.

Her eyebrows went up when she heard my full name. ''Puttock?''

''I don't use my middle name often.'' The footman guided us through the door, where a butler waited to announce us to the assembled guests.

''I can see why,'' my companion said. But she said it lightly, and she was smiling. The evening was looking up. We stepped into the dining hall and the butler announced _Doctor_ _Geoffrey_ _Puttock_ _Hunter_, _Professor_ _at_ _Hogwarts_, and _Jezebel_ _Rosier_ _of_ _the_ _Most_ _Ancient_ _House_ _of_ _Rosier_.

And there, at the top of the grand stairway, I froze.

_Take_ _a_ _look_ _at_ _my_ _madhouse_

The hall was lit by hundreds of candles.

_My_ _own_ _little_ _cell_

Hundreds of candles, burning bright as they drifted above the table.

_Take_ _a_ _look_ _at_ _my_ _madhouse_

Hundreds of burning flames, floating above the guests.

_It's_ _my_ _own_ _living_ _hell_.


	4. Chapter 4

J.K. Rowling is everywhere. J.K. Rowling is behind you. Right now. _Watching_.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

A Candlelit Dinner

I dreamed of fire that night. Fire as a roaring beast, flaming jaws open wide to show red fangs and flickering tongue.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Back pressed against the wall, legs shaking, I swallowed hard to keep dinner down. I tried to breath from my belly, deep breaths to keep the panic down. I felt as though someone was tightening an vice around my chest.

A half-dozen candles hovered above me. I'd broken away from the after-dinner crowd, trying to escape the flames burning above the party. They'd followed me.

There's something pathetic about a grown man scared of candle-flames. I know that. Were people staring? I didn't care.

Professor Isgar came over, his wand in hand. He pointed it at the candles above my head and gestured them away. ''Galilea sent me over,'' he said. ''We're getting you out of here before you pass out.''

He grabbed my arm. I was shaking so hard I probably couldn't have held on to him if he'd asked. That freezing darkness came down on me again, crashing down like a wave, and then we were outside Hogwarts in the cold night air.

Now I threw up, turning away from Isgar just in time.

Apparation had nothing to do with it.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Hundreds of candles in long rows like burning soldiers in their ranks.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

The brunette was talking. ''You can't use magic? At all? Were you able to see past Muggle-repelling Charms before you came to Hogwarts?''

''Not sure. I suppose I must've been. I just never ran into them before.'' Were the candles dripping? No, that was sweat running down the back of my neck. Not wax.

''So, um, does anyone else hear that? It's not just me?''

Jezebel shifted a bit in her seat. ''I'm sorry, hear what?''

''The candles? You don't hear it? God I hope it's not like the talking campfire again. My shrink put me on clozapine after that.''

''Clothes a pin?'' Jezebel traded glances with the rich kid across the table. _Oh_ _lady_, I though, _if_ _you_ _think_ you're _having_ _a_ _bad_ _dinner_, _try_ _sitting_ _in_ _my_ _chair_.

''My family had just died. And I was the right age for schizophrenia. Bad combination.'' This was not appropriate conversation over pudding. ''Ms. Rosier, I've read that name before. Are you related to the Rosiers of Riddle's Death Eaters?''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I used to think about the smell of burning flesh a lot. In college I'd met anthropologists and learned that some Polynesian tribes had referred to human flesh as _long_ _pig_. The meats are similar in taste. I'd wondered if my sister had smelled like roast pork.

I looked at the faces of the people around me. I must have spoken out loud.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Hundreds of candles in long rows like burning soldiers in their ranks. I could hear the tiny _hiss_ of their flames whispering above me.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I suppose the soup must have been good. I couldn't taste it. The smell of burning beeswax filled my nose and throat. I tried to clear the taste away with a mouthful of chameleon wine, which couldn't decide if it wanted to be white or red.

The rich kid across the table was lecturing his companions. He kept glancing my way, clearly trying to get my attention. George Weasley had an entire product line based on the fact that most adult wizards or witches couldn't cast any of the Shielding Charms. This kid was going on about how rifles were useless against a Shielded wizard.

''_A_ _History_ _of_ _Magic_ goes on about that. Bagshot's understanding of infantry tactics stops with the Napoleonic Age. These days an infantry soldier can drop a grenade on you from nearly two hundred metres away, without having to see you. And your Killing Curse is worthless against an armed UAV or EATR.''

'''Eater'?'' The kid looked confused.

''A robot, um, automaton, powered by an engine that can burn biomass.''

Jezebel edged her chair away from me. Yeah, I wasn't getting her digits tonight. ''Biomass, Professor Hunter?''

''Plants, animal fat. Don't worry, their makers insist they're programmed not eat humans.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Somehow we made it down the stairs, following the faintly glowing bead of light that guided us to our chairs. Sweat beaded on my forehead and down the middle of my back. I breathed carefully, deeply, trying to smother the fear in my belly.

Galilea gave me an odd look from the far end of the table.

Finally the hostess and Professor Theobrosan made their way to their places. I reached out to pull the chair back for Jezebel Rosier. As soon as my hand touched the chair it slid back, then edged forward perfectly as she sat. My own chair pulled me to exactly the right distance from the table.

The woman in pink and white had watched as Jezebel and I were seated. She spoke to me. ''I'd heard a rumour that you weren't a wizard. But that must not be true if the seats work.''

''Yeah. It's true. A lot of Charmed items respond to perception. I can perceive magic. Like ghosts.'' No, I wasn't babbling at all.

Jezebel spoke up. ''Oh, you must be the rumoured Muggle professor. The whole Department is talking about you.''

So much for keeping it under wraps until Thursday. ''Yes. It's a great professional opportunity. An entire hidden society to study. It's like finding a group of backwoods Amish hiding in the Laurentian Highlands.''

Were those candles moving? Never mind Geoff. Ignore them. Pay attention to your dinner companion.

''We do have the radio,'' she said. ''We're not as isolated as all that.''

''I've seen the material your children study about the outside world. It's appalling.'' Dangerously close to politics, Geoff. Abort, abort! ''So how about those Holyhead Harpies, eh?''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Hundreds of candles in long rows like burning soldiers in their ranks. I could hear the tiny _hiss_ of their flames whispering above me. And the air full of the scent of wax like burning fat.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I dreamed of fire. Fire as a roaring beast, flaming jaws open wide to show red fangs and flickering tongue. I dreamed of people screaming and the smell of burning hair.

It was not so much a dream as a memory. I'd been three, and our new neighbours had thrown a block party. They'd installed their gas barbecue themselves, and it was a miracle no one had been seriously hurt in the fire.

Sixteen years later those neighbours installed an even bigger grill. They killed my parents and sister.


	5. Chapter 5

You know that picture of the old guy groping J.K. Rowling's breast? He's her agent, and it's in his contract that he gets to cop a feel off of _everyone_ who makes money from the Harry Potter franchise. His cold hands are why I'm releasing this story for free.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Meet The Press

I'd had the House-elves close off the flue the day I'd moved in to the room. I'm crazy, not stupid.

Instead of a wood fire I had a Heat-Charmed cannonball, which Longbottom insisted on calling a bludger. I nudged it a couple of times with the special poker, setting it to maximum heat, and sat down on the warm masonry by the hearth. Someone had left a thermos of coffee and a plate of sticky buns out for me. I wrapped myself in a wool blanket and ate sticky buns as I soaked heat from the stonework.

A steady drumbeat of rain came down on the window. The weather had gone Scottish last night and Hogwarts sat inside its very own cloud.

Some days you really miss the meds.

Wednesday. Two days until the start of the school year. Things to do. I had to make sure Flourish and Blotts had the new textbooks in. Sometime during the previous evening all my stuff from Montreal had arrived. The House-Elves had stacked the boxes nearly two metres high. And it was a safe bet that my antics last night had made the papers. Time to deal with the fall-out from that.

I sat by the fireplace, soaking heat from the red-hot bludger and drinking coffee.

My sulk was interrupted by a knocking at my chamber door, three short thumps. I really didn't want to talk to anyone, but I couldn't sit in my room humming old Eurythmics songs all day. ''Come in.''

Professor Isgar swooped in like a giant bat, scholarly black robes flapping. The only colour in his clothes was the green and silver lining of his cloak. I supposed he must have had meetings already. He carried a bundle of newspapers under one arm.

''We had a press scrum in front of the Great Hall this morning, following the release of the morning papers.'' He put the newspapers on my little table. ''News of your Muggle status broke this morning. Page three of the Star, page two of the Prophet. The only reason we haven't seen it in the Weekly is that they don't go to press until Friday evening.''

Isgar sat in one of my chairs and looked at me for a minute. ''You look better than last night. How do you feel?''

''Tired.''

''Did you sleep?''

''Some.''

He shook his head. ''Clearly not enough, but it will have to do. Hogwarts needs you to speak to the press this afternoon, in time for a late edition of the Star. Rita Skeeter is paying Galilea a favour here, but it won't work if you're not ready.''

''Is this the woman who wrote _Mad,_ _Bad,_ _And_ _Dangerous_ _To_ _Know_?'' Short, sweet, and to the point, it was the best of the books I'd skimmed on the Wizarding Wars. The woman obviously loathed the leadership of both the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's Army.

Isgar laughed briefly. ''I thought that might bring you out of it. Rita and Galilea are friends from, oh, ages ago. Galilea was the first Pureblood to give a grubby Halfblood journalist the time of day, pulled a few strings to get her in at the Prophet back when she was hungry. Rita hasn't forgotten, now that she runs the Daily Star.''

''Journalists with obvious agendas are God's finest gift to my profession. No one digs deeper than a vicious hack with a grudge.''

''We'll have to Renervate you a few times, see if we can't do something about those bags under your eyes. But I suspect you and Rita will get along like old friends.''

Rita Skeeter had stopped just short of calling Potter's right-hand-witch a starstalking slut. The prospect of meeting the Procopius of the Wizarding World definitely woke me up. I was even starting to feel warm.

Isgar stood and stretched. I suspected I hadn't been the only one to have a sleepless night. He walked over and knelt next to me. ''In less pleasant news, the Aurors would like to speak with you.''

''What? Why?''

''I have no idea. Galilea hoped you might know.'' He watched me carefully, as though studying a bubbling cauldron. ''We have just enough time to get you fed and cleaned up.''

''All right. I should get moving anyways. It's starting to get hot here.''

Isgar's face twitched. ''Really.''

He yanked me to my feet, pulling the blanket off me.

''Hey!''

''Clean up and eat.'' He pushed me towards the door, one hand gripping my shoulder. ''You can complain about my manners later.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I washed quickly, scrubbing off the night's sweat. The East Wing bathroom was empty and the shower stalls smelled faintly of bleach. I doubted either situation would last past the start of the school year.

The lack of a private bathroom was the big disadvantage to rooming at Hogwarts. Maybe I wouldn't unpack. There were some Muggle villages relatively nearby along the A Road, with modern wiring and plumbing. Close enough to commute, not so close that I couldn't have my tablet. I missed texts. Newsfeeds. Email. MP4s. I was starting to go into withdrawal.

I'd have to go back to Diagon Alley soon. At some point I'd managed to scorch my under shirt. I had no idea how, but it was just as well I'd not noticed.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Mail arrived a few seconds after breakfast appeared. The staff owl dropped the bundle of envelopes in front of me, circled once, then flew off silently.

Enchanted owls. Had the Ministry run a contest looking for the stupidest possible way to operate a postal system?

With me settling in to Hogwarts, Neville spent more time at his home above the Leaky Cauldron. Other teaching staff were spending more time at the school as the start of the year approached. This morning I sat at the table between Charms Professor Belladonna Burke and Arts Professor Rebecca Lestrange. Neither of them said more to me than the bare minimum courtesies. Maybe the old witchhunters had been on to something, at least for the Purebloods.

I ate quickly while sorting through my mail. Letter from the services department at Gringotts, probably the usual summary of yesterday's email. Letter from the office of the DME Head, probably a form letter inquiring after my health. Letter from Glinda Ollivander, hopefully a yes to my request for an interview with a historically fascinating family. Letter from - Hello.

Letter from Jezebel Rosier.

Odd.

The rest of the mail could wait till after my meeting.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

The Auror was not a pretty man to say the least. He had thick features and a heavy brow, and was ugly in a way the women I knew would call 'masculine'. Two days of bright ginger stubble didn't make him look any better. Hollywood would cast a man like that as the villain's chief thug.

Ron Weasley. Potter's personal leg-breaker, yes-man, and pet idiot, according to Rita Skeeter. I had to wonder about the roots of her grudge.

He smiled hugely as he shook my hand, his cheeks dimpling. Suddenly he looked less like a heavy and more like the hero's buddy in a romantic comedy. ''Welcome to Wizarding Britain, Professor Hunter. Has anyone tried to Hex you yet?''

''Not that I've noticed. But I'm wearing so many protective wards and Shield-Charmed clothes that any Hex would probably ricochet back to the caster.''

''Good, good. And George's new underpants? How are they holding up?''

''I signed a contract forbidding me from discussing the nature or even existence of my underwear.''

Ron Weasley smirked. ''George couldn't keep a secret if you put out his tongue with Acid Pops. I worked in his shop for more than a year. We didn't develop a single new product that his competitors hadn't heard of weeks before it hit the shelves.''

The Headmistress spoke up from behind her desk. ''And yet, we at Hogwarts have never felt the need to ban the entire product line of any of your brother's competitors. They always lack that Weasley flare.''

''I'll tell him you said that. That'll make his day.'' Weasley took a seat in front of the Headmistress' desk. He looked up and past her to the portrait behind her desk.

The portrait behind the Head Teacher's desk is reserved for their most recently deceased predecessor. Another one of those historically fascinating figures scowled down on us from the canvas.

''Hello, Professor Snape.''

''Mr. Weasley. If you're here, trouble surely follows close behind.'' God, had the man ever had a kind word for anyone?

''Albus is fine, since you asked.''

''I pray never to meet the boy.''

Ron Weasley actually smiled at this. I had to be missing something.

Headmistress Grimward held up her hand. ''Gentlemen, you can measure wands later. At the moment we have business to discuss. Professor Hunter, please be seated.''

She'd neglected the top button of her shirt. I really did need to find a more suitable object of lust than my boss.

Weasley waited for me to sit. Our chairs abruptly moved, angling themselves to form a triangle with Weasley, Grimward, and I at the points. I really wish wizards or witches would warn people before doing things like that.

''Well mate, there's good news and bad news.'' Weasley smiled again. Well-connected, attractive in a grotty sort of way, and charming. If he hadn't married his sweetheart right out of school, Ron Weasley could have had his pick of any woman in the Wizarding World. ''The good news is, you made quite an impression on that young lady last night. The bad news is, she's a Pureblood supremacist with ties to a rather nasty terrorist group.''

Terrorists?

The office felt very far away. I stared ahead, past the Headmistress to the wall.

She held her hand up in front of her and snapped her fingers twice. I shook my head.

''Sorry. Did it again, didn't I?''

''You've had a hectic week,'' she said.

I was missing something here, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I turned back to Ron Weasley. ''But _why_? I mean, I understand that some of the Purebloods don't want a Muggle teaching their kids. But why would a terrorist group be interested in a junior professor?''

Weasley shook his head. ''You don't understand the politics. And believe me, politics are the only reason I'm personally involved in this. If it were anyone else under threat, they'd be talking to a junior Auror.''

Not the fist of Harry Potter Himself. Right.

''Explain the politics. I really need to know what's going on here.''

''As simply as possible,'' said Weasley. ''It's Hogwarts. The school is over a thousand years old, and it's the heart of the Wizarding World. And it's not just symbolic. Between the membership of the Board of Governors, the magical skills of the Head Teacher, and the spells built into the school itself, Hogwarts is one of our major centres of power. Honestly, It's all in _Hogwarts_, _A_ _History_. Believe me mate, there is no such thing as a 'junior professor' at Hogwarts.''

I turned back to Grimward. ''Just how political is this project of yours?''

''Deeply,'' she said. ''Don't _glower_, Professor. I had no idea anyone would blow this so far out of proportion. Mr. Weasley, who are these people?''

''They call themselves The One Hundred. Don't ask me why, we've thought of at least three different possibilities. But they're the same pack that _Umbridge_ came from.''

He nearly spat when he said the name. Umbridge, Umbridge, Something Umbridge, one of Tom Riddle's Quislings in the last war. Something about that name... Something about a human eye stuck to her door, and God I hoped I was misremembering that.

''Isn't she the one that thought Muggle-borns were stealing magic somehow? Is that even possible?''

''It is not.'' Headmistress Grimward shook her head. ''One is either born with the ability to cast spells, or not. Within that ability there are varying degrees of talent, or even varying types of talents, but you can either cast spells, or you cannot. There is no way to steal that inborn ability.''

And there were other abilities. Like being able to see non-material magical creatures, or places warded from Muggle attention. Most Squibs had that. It was one of my qualifications for professorship at Hogwarts, that I could see the bloody place.

There's a minority of wizards and witches who think magic can be stolen. Look at it from their point of view. A Muggle walks into a tea shop in Hogsmeade... And all of a sudden he's a professor at Hogwarts attending dinners at the Ministry.

It wasn't really funny, but I had to laugh a bit. ''Oh God, I must've made a real impression on her last night. All those candles above the table. I'm pyrophobic. I was babbling. I can barely remember what I said.''

''According to the Prophet you were going on about flesh-eating automatons, cannibalistic barbecues, and Muggle soldiers slaughtering wizards. Not the sort of thing parents want to hear from a new teacher.''

Something clicked. ''Mr. Weasley, do you have kids?''

''Two,'' he said, beaming. ''My daughter starts at Hogwarts this year.''

''Is this an official Auror's visit, Mr. Weasley, or a visit from a concerned parent? Or are you trying to panic my employer into letting me go?''

Weasley's smile went a bit flat. ''I don't want you to lose your place, Professor Hunter. The One Hundred is a dangerous bunch, and we - ''

''You haven't actually said they're interested in me. Just that I sat next to someone with ties to them.''

Grimward leaned forward on her desk. ''How is this woman involved with The One Hundred, supposedly?''

''Money. Her family isn't wealthy any more, hardly any of the Purebloods really are, but she runs one of our estate firms. She's channelling funds to The One Hundred. We can't prove it yet, but we will.''

''Should you be telling me that? I mean, if you can't prove it?''

Weasley finally looked a bit embarrassed. The Headmistress laughed. It had a bitter sound.

''Proof and evidence are such quaint Muggle customs. I doubt we'll import those ideas any time soon.''

''My wife has been at me for years about that. She's been at Shacklebolt too. It's gotten to the point that he avoids her in the halls.''

Right. New mental note: Find out what exactly passed for civil rights in Wizarding Britain. But the matter at hand was a little more important. ''Assuming good faith on your part, what do you suggest I do?''

''Go about your business. If you notice anything that seems odd or out of place - ''

I snorted.

''All right. Anything that seems odd even by the standards of wizards and witches, or if you think you're being followed, tell Headmistress Grimward, Neville, or Ewart Fairbairn immediately. And make sure that the Headmistress knows your schedule and where you'll be at all times.''

''And don't open any strange packages that I might get in the mail?'' I decided not to mention Jezebel's letter just yet. I'd bring it up later in private with Grimward.

''Exactly.''

I made a noise between a groan and a sigh. It might not have been his real reason for being there, but Weasley had a point. ''Death threats I'm used to. You would not believe how some parents react to their little genius receiving a less than perfect grade. But terrorists?''

I had to face the ugly question of whether the students would be safe with me around. But I was too damned tired to deal with it. Later. We'd have to have a meeting about it later. Would this One Hundred group care if I'd been Obliviated?

I realized Weasley was talking. '' - basic security procedures. Between the protective Charms at Hogwarts and a little bit of caution, you should be fine. Just keep your eyes and ears open - ''

Headmistress Grimward laughed out loud at that. Ron Weasley looked at me. I think I blushed a bit.

''I'm easily distracted.''

''Ah. Lucky I'm about then. I'll keep an eye on you.''

''Officially or unofficially, Mr. Weasley?''

Ron Weasley stood. ''I've a meeting soon. Headmistress, Professor, it's been a pleasure to meet both of you. Headmistress, with your permission... ''

''Granted.''

He Disapparated out, leaving only a loud crack as air fell in on empty space.

There'd been a lot of information in that short interview. But the first thing to come to mind was how he'd left. ''According to _Hogwarts_, _A_ _History_, Anti-Disapparation Charms are part of the school's oldest layer of defence.''

Galilea Grimward leaned further forward on her desk, crossing her arms under her chest. I was absolutely certain she hadn't forgotten where she had buttoned her top to. Her silver and jade snake pendant was downright hypnotic. ''My predecessor found those defences utterly inadequate, as well as highly obstructive in the event of an emergency. Senior staff may Apparate and Disapparate at will, and as Head Teacher I may extend permission to others.'' Grimward smiled. ''Minerva wrote the shaping aspects of those Charms herself. She actually subtly Transfigured the incavium space around Hogwarts, to dis-intent incursion without the attention of senior staff. It was a pleasure to work with her.''

I followed almost none of that. But again, it wasn't the matter at hand. ''About Ron Weasley... As far as cops go, he's a lousy liar. But whether that was an official visit or not, I am worried about the safety of the students.''

''Good. Professors Longbottom and Fairbairn are both former Aurors. I will schedule a meeting where we can discuss school security. That will be tomorrow. Today, you will rest. You have an interview with Rita this afternoon, but I've taken you off the schedule for staff meetings. The day is yours. Rest, Geoffrey.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

A table at the Hogshead. Firewhisky, bacon and onion pie, and chips. _A_ _History_ _of_ _Magic_ (Bathilda Bagshot) to the left. _The_ _Penguin_ _Illustrated_ _History_ _of_ _Britain_ _and_ _Ireland_ (Barry Cunliffe, editor) and _The_ _Oxford_ _History_ _of_ _Britain_ (Kenneth O. Morgan, editor) in the middle. _Hogwarts_, _A_ _History_ (Authorship disputed, under review by a DME committee) to the right. A fresh notebook and coloured pens.

What? How do you relax?


	6. Chapter 6

ROWLING IS.

Sister Shibley's accent provided by the Scottie Translator at whoohoo. co. uk, because there is no way I'm going to try for an authentic 15th Century Scots accent. Even modern Scottish makes my spellchecker weep.

**CHAPTER SIX**

Lies, Misconceptions, and Missed Opportunities

What did wizards and witches teach their children?

Bagshot claimed that the Demdike and Chattox families of Pendle Hill had been Squibs. Related to the Starks and Macilents, and through them the Gaunts. But whatever their blood status, a number of Bagshot's statements were not supported by the evidence. The Pendle Hill witches had been tried and executed for murder, not witchcraft. And they'd been hanged, not burnt.

Bagshot claimed nearly five thousand burnt as witches in the century proceeding Seclusion. Actual historical records from the early 1400s through to the early 1800s supported an estimate closer to five hundred executed for crimes related to witchcraft. Most of them hanged.

First and foremost, the Wizarding World taught its children lies.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Sister Shibley had died in the 15th Century, two or three years before Henry Tudor's coronation. She'd died in a brief revolt by the centaurs, one that had destroyed the abbey formerly associated with Hogwarts.

''Aa'm nae sure Ah kin, Professur. Aa've hud mah wain' since Ah was a wee bairn.'' By the standards of her era and region, she must've had a very urbane accent.

''I'm just curious as to when the Ministry brought in the Ordinaries and Non-Essentials.''

''Och, it was efter th' Bludy Baron's time.''

I stopped short in the hall. Sister Shibley hovered next to me, glowing faintly in the dim light. It was raining sideways now, and the windows let hardly any light in.

''Really? That's very helpful. Thank you, Sister.'' Sister Shibley, who had died in the 15th Century and never heard of OWLS or NEWTs in her lifetime, claimed that those tests had come in _after_ the Bloody Baron. So far as I could tell everything about the sister's ghost was consistent with the life of a young woman of the 15th Century. But the Baron? A man in a powdered wig claiming to be a 12th Century lord? Speaking Modern English with an upper crust Hogsmeade accent? A fraud, obviously.

''Aa'm canty tae help. Hardly a sool speaks tae me.''

Poor kid. She may have died in the 15th Century, but she couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. She'd said she hadn't taken her permanent vows before her death. Six hundred years with no-one but the Grey Sisters or the other ghosts for any permanent company. Although ghosts seemed less concerned with the passage of time, being stripped from their body's clock.

I started walking again. Sister Shibley kept pace.

''I have a meeting now, Sister. But thanks for your help. And if you see Peeves, tell him I expect better from a millennium-old imp. A bucket of whitewash over the door? Weak.''

''Yoo're a brae cheil, Professur.'' She dived through the floor. I'd learned since meeting her that this was her her favourite way of ending a conversation.

The Head Teacher's office is guarded by a grim looking stone gargoyle. Professor Isgar came out of the entrance behind the guardian just as I approached. It slid back into place, stone grinding on stone, as he left.

''You're looking a bit more alert,'' he said. ''This morning I doubt you'd have noticed if someone set you on fire.''

''Not. Funny.'' I cleared my throat. ''Sorry. I guess I'm still a bit grouchy.''

''After the night you had? No need to apologize.''

''Thanks. You look like you didn't get much sleep either.''

''Hardly any. Galilea kept me up till the little morning. And speaking of herself, you'd best get along if you've a meeting.''

''Right. See you later.''

Damn it, what was that woman up to? Was I completely misreading her?

The student password was 'swordfish', and hadn't changed in Galilea's four years as Headmistress. The gargoyle stepped aside as I mangled _llwyd_ _blaidd_, the staff password. Behind the gargoyle there was a slowly revolving spiral staircase.

The thing about a revolving spiral staircase is that it shouldn't take you anywhere except in a circle. Sometimes I think wizards do things like that just to show off.

A great circular window pierced the outside wall of the Head Teacher's tower. Galilea used the space beneath the window as a reading area. She was reclining on her small leather couch reading a book when I came in.

''Hello, Professor Hunter. Have you seen the Marauder's Map? Come over and have a look.''

I stood above her, looking. She waved at the rumpled piece of parchment framed above her couch. ''A very creative group of students managed to tap into Hogwarts' defensive wards, creating an interactive map of the school. I confiscated it from a student I caught in Salazar Slytherin's old family chapel. The child vandalised sacred art that dates back to the druids.''

Grimward set her book aside and stretched. She swung her feet off the couch and sat up, looking up at me with those grey-green eyes. I caught a glimpse of matching green lace under her blouse.

Oh God.

At some point we really would need to have a serious talk. But I was too stressed for anything like that right now.

She stood, taking a small step towards me. ''What do you think, Professor?''

Things would be so much easier if Isgar wasn't a nice guy. What was I going to do about him? ''Of the map? It's fascinating, but I don't know enough magic to really understand it.''

A frown flickered across her face and she stepped past me, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked over to a curved bookshelf. She really was shorter than she seemed, particularly once you realized those shoes added two inches.

''Have you had a chance to study the House system at Hogwarts?''

''Not really, but it's come up repeatedly in the works I'm reading. It's obviously important within your culture, but I'm not sure I understand it yet.''

Galilea took something off the shelf and turned to face me. She held a battered old leather hat, so worn it barely held its peak.

''My God. Is that... That really... ?''

''The Sorting Hat? Yes. Take a seat.''

Patched, frayed, burned. More patches and stitching than original leather, really. A thousand-year-old historical artefact, casually stored on an office shelf.

''That hat - That hat holds partial memories from the Founders' Era! It's a priceless store of information! You can't just keep it on a shelf!''

''But Professor, if I didn't keep it at hand how would I consult its priceless information? Or it's amazing trove of filthy limericks? Please, sit down. Indulge my curiosity.''

I sat back on the couch. ''You can't be serious. This won't work.''

''I am very serious. I have no idea if this will work. As I said, indulge me.''

She lowered the Hat down on my head. It smelled strongly of oiled leather and faintly of shampoo. And then something _looked_ inside my head.

''_So_ _soon?_ _I'm_ _not_ _done_ _rehearsal!_ _Oh_, _how_ _odd._''

''You're telling me?''

''_Aren't_ _you_ _a_ _bit_ _old_ _for_ _this?_ _Oh_ _well_. _Let's_ _see..._ _Known_ _her_ _for less than_ _three_ _days_ _and_ _you're_ _already_ _plotting_ _to_ _take_ _the_ _boyfriend_ _out_ _of_ _the_ _picture?_ _Planning_ _to_ _undermine_ _Wizarding_ _culture_ _through_ _the_ _education_ _system? Humph._ _And_ _what's_ _this?_ _An_ _insurance_ _policy_ _on_ _your_ _ex?_''

''That is _not_ - ''

''Slytherin,'' said the hat.

''_Now_ _let_ _me_ _get_ _back_ _to_ _work_.'' It fell silent, and that strange presence pulled back from my mind.

I pulled the Hat off. ''That is not why - Jessi and I both had - I just haven't updated my policy package! Yet!''

''The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.''

''Headmistress!''

She took the Hat from my hands, laughing. ''Oh, you're not the first to be thrown off balance by what the Hat sees. I thought I'd go to Ravenclaw.''

I took another look at her green and silver snake pendant, hanging low on its silver chain. ''Why didn't you?''

''The Hat pointed out that while I do want to know things, which is a core trait of that House, my reason for wanting knowledge is more Slytherin in nature.''

''Wanted to lord it over the ignorant masses, eh?''

''Something like that. Oh, and Geoffrey? I'm up here.''

I stood up quickly. ''Ah, sorry. I was just admiring your penda_nt_.'' I bit back the plural that threatened to fall off the tip of my tongue.

''Why thank you.'' She put her hand up to the pendant, coincidentally pulling her collar open a bit. ''It was a gift from my late husband, on our first anniversary.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I'd tracked down references to my friends' families during the war. Three Death Eaters had suspected that Grimward Manor was a safe-house for Dumbledore's Army. It wasn't, but that didn't stop the Death Eaters from killing Kenrich Grimward (1970-1998) and his daughter Adolpha (1996-1998). Or hospitalizing Galilea Grimward (Nee Selwyn; 1972- ). They'd been so distracted with their fun they'd missed the call to arms, and the Battle Over Little Whinging.

Murderers. Sadists. _Incompetent_ _idiots_.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''It goes with your eyes. He obviously had excellent taste.''

Galilea played with the locket. ''I thought so. He also bought me those trousers you admired earlier.''

God she was standing less than a foot from me. She smelled clean. She smelled faintly spicy, like peppermint.

To hell with waiting for later. ''Galilea, what is - ''

The fireplace flared blinding emerald. I jumped straight up and yelped...

Well, okay, shrieked.

_What_ _is_ _your_ _relationship_ _with_ _Idris?_ It would have to wait for later.

The green Floo Network fire formed into a burning face. _Damn_ I hated that.

''Knock knock, Gally! Are you in?''

Galilea rolled her eyes. ''Rita. Your sense of timing is as keen as ever.''


	7. Chapter 7

J.K Rowling owns the Harry Potter intellectual property, your DNA, and all derivatives thereof.

(Odd discovery of the day: Tom Felton ships Draco/Harry. Disturbing self-discovery of the day: I am enough of a geek to know what every word of that means.)

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The great fireplace blazed with green fire. While I looked away the Headmistress leaned close to me and whispered ''Don't mention the Hat.''

When the noise and light faded I turned back to the fireplace. A strong-jawed woman strode out of the fire, waving what looked suspiciously like a flip camera. A few emerald flames still flickered on her green travelling cloak. Rita Skeeter and the Headmistress exchanged greetings and hugs, Skeeter's brilliant red nails standing out like a flare against Grimward's light blouse. They broke the hug and Skeeter turned her attention on me.

She swung the flip camera my way. ''Professor Geoffrey Hunter, Hogwarts' controversial new Professor of Muggle Studies.'' The camera made a clicking noise. She angled the camera down a bit. ''Cutting a refreshingly stylish figure in the staid atmosphere at Hogwarts.''

Damn it, I'd picked these clothes to try and blend in. Oh well.

''It's a pleasure to meet the author of _Mad_, _Bad_, _and_ _Dangerous_ _to_ _Know_. I've found your work very useful.''

Rita shook her camera twice and left it hanging in the air, snapping pictures as she stepped forward to shake my hand. Not a standard flip camera then. ''Wonderful. And what did you think of _Rise_ _and_ _Fall_?''

_The_ _Rise_ _and_ _Fall_ _of_ _Tom_ _Marvolo_ _Riddle_, the standard text on the Wizarding Wars. ''I disagree that Tom Riddle ever had a political agenda. To him, it was always about _him_. But the chronology and maps are helpful.''

Rita smiled, revealing inhumanly perfect straight white teeth. ''How flattering. Did you learn how to speak to the press during your military career, professor?''

That was a friendly warning shot. In all the Wizarding World, I'd only told the goblins about my army background. Their services department needed to know my full legal obligations to the government of Canada.

''I never dealt with the press. I spent four years living in prefab huts on melting permafrost, running spreadsheets. My so-called 'career' paid for college, but I didn't make it past Lieutenant.'' The military and I had both gotten what we needed from one another, but neither of us had been heartbroken to see the relationship end. They'd lost a blandly competent Logistics officer, I'd escaped a job I hated.

''No excitement, no danger or adventure?''

''I saw a Master Corporal get crushed to death by a pallet of lumber. Construction accident. Does that count?''

Rita gave me a wry look. ''Work with me, Professor Hunter. I need something romantic to sell you to my audience.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Excerpt from the special edition of the Daily Star, 30 August 2017.

''It's a bit like being in hiding,'' says the new Professor of Muggle Studies, in his flat American accent. ''You have to go out sometimes, so you try to dress inconspicuously. But you're never sure if you've done it right, and you always worry that people are staring at you.''

Professor Doctor Geoffrey Puttock Hunter obviously isn't hiding from the press, we're sitting right next to him. And the outspoken historian is no stranger to controversy. He may be the only person willing to discuss the Wizarding Wars over pudding, and in the presence of so many veterans of those conflicts. We ask him what he feels he's hiding from.

He laughs briefly, and we're reminded of just how young he is for his position. At thirty-six he's the youngest professor at Hogwarts. ''From making a bad first impression, but I guess it's a little late for that. I'd hoped that I'd make my mark through teaching, not putting my foot in my mouth at a formal dinner.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Did you really ask Jezebel Rosier about her family's role in the Wizarding Wars?''

''I suppose I was a little over-excited, just blurting it out over dessert. There's a saying that history is written by the winners, but that's not true. After the Slaveholders' Rebellion the Southern US states were very successful at twisting the story to their own ends. And the Irish lost a whole series of wars, rebellions, and insurrections, but their side of the story still shows up in textbooks. In our case here, the Pureblood families who supported Tom Riddle haven't conveniently vanished. The Rosiers supported Riddle in both of his uprisings against the Ministry, and I'd be fascinated to hear their perspective on events. But I probably should have just sent them a letter asking for an interview, like I did with the Ollivanders.''

''You do understand the Death Eater attitude towards Muggles, even ones with the Sight?''

''Oh yeah. But some of the best work on the War of 1812 was done by Native historians. And a lot of them still hate Major-General Procter for hanging Tecumseh out to dry... '' I was losing my audience. They had that same 'what are you talking about?' look I'd felt on my face over the past week. ''My point is, you don't have to agree with a movement to learn about it.''

A little bit of flattery never hurt. ''In fact, I was telling Professor Isgar earlier that one of the reasons I preferred your work over _Life_ _and_ _Times_ is your clear agenda. _Life_ _and_ _Times_ struggles to be bland, to present what the editors must have thought was a neutral voice. They lay out names and dates and places, but never really dig into motivations. A history presented without a clear perspective, a clear agenda, is a history that won't stand the test of time.''

''And what agenda do you see in my book?''

Rita Skeeter had a good twenty years on Galilea. If Galilea had been the first Pureblood to find Rita useful, to give her access to that world, then Rita must've had some long hungry years in her early career. That might explain the simultaneously fawning and vicious attitude in _Mad,_ _Bad,_ _and_ _Dangerous_ _to_ _Know_ towards the upper levels of the Wizarding community.

''_Life_ _and_ _Times_ doesn't even try to explain why so many wizards and witches tolerated Riddle's obvious contempt for them, or why isolationist Purebloods would follow a man who wanted to destroy Seclusion by ruling Muggles. The only way to understand all that is to understand why they feared Albus Dumbledore, their fears that he was trying to take over Wizarding Britain - ''

''Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin - First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot...'' Rita listed off Albus Dumbledore's titles. ''Can you blame them?''

One of the portraits spoke up, a thin old man with a broken nose over a huge white beard. ''You neglected Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. I believe that one caused my opponents quite a bit of concern.''

Rita made a face like she'd just bitten into a lemon.

''Thank you, Professor Dumbledore.'' Even the aggressively neutral _Life_ _and_ _Times_ had presented Albus Dumbledore as a very odd man. Obfuscating stupidity on his part, or had he really been that much of a cloudcuckoolander? ''Is that title related to the word 'Muggle'?''

''Sadly, yes. Fortunately the Muggle-whomping duties were entirely ceremonial by my tenure. But I do apologize for the interruption.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Excerpt from the special edition of the Daily Star, 30 August 2017.

For a man trying to blend in to a new society, Geoffrey Hunter has made some bold choices in fashion. He's dressed in clothes that wouldn't look out of place on a Quidditch captain, and his denim trousers fit very well. We're not surprised when he mentions that he enjoys dance. ''My parents put me in a class when I was seven. I think they just wanted me out of the house, but I've stayed with it off and on all my life.''

We ask about his other hobbies. ''I read a lot. It seems like that's the only thing I've been doing this past week, trying to catch up on Wizarding history. And I play T'ai Chi. That's a Muggle sport from China. You see old people doing it it parks, for fitness. My academic work doesn't give me much exercise, so T'ai Chi gives me a head start on being old and slow.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''You're obviously passionate about history, but you teach Muggle Studies. Have you met Professor Binns yet?''

''Cuthbert? Fascinating man.'' I said. Galilea made a very unladylike snorting noise. Rita stifled a laugh.

''No, really. I hear his lectures are a bit dry, but on the subject of the various goblin or giant uprisings he's clearly an expert in his field.'' In fact he was the biggest bore I'd ever met, and that's saying a lot given some of the old academics I'd worked with. And he was a raving bigot regarding any non-human Beings. ''Personally I feel his talents are wasted lecturing junior students. He'd be far better used teaching a series of upper-year courses regarding the rebellions and the military history of Wizarding Britain.''

Galilea and Rita both stared at me. They exchanged glances. Then Rita said ''Professor, to be perfectly clear, you're suggesting that Professor Binns would be more valuable in a senior position?'' She sounded downright eager.

Galilea sighed hugely, briefly distracting me. ''I ought to have thought of that ages ago. I've petitioned the Board three times now to remove Professor Binns' ghost. I could have promoted him away from the students at any time.''

Behind Galilea the portrait of Professor Snape cleared his throat for our attention. ''The Board will block you,'' he said. ''Albus tried it.''

We looked over to the portrait of Dumbledore. He nodded sadly. ''As did Armando. And before him, Newton.''

''This time, it won't be the Head Teacher promoting him.'' Rita smiled a thin tight smile. ''It'll be the Board, and they'll think it was all their idea. They'll read about the silly new Muggle professor in the Star, going on about how good old Cuthbert is wasted in his current role at Hogwarts - ''

''Good old Cuthbert is wasted in his current role at Hogwarts,'' I said. ''And would be more valuable in a senior position. You can quote me on that.''

Galilea sighed again, more happily this time. ''Geoffrey, if this works, regardless of how the rest of the year plays out you will have earned your keep at Hogwarts.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Following Rita's instructions I moved over to the book shelf. A rare edition hissed at me and tried to hide behind a boxed set of _The_ _Chronicles_ _of_ _Prydain_.

''Put your foot up on that ottoman and lean forward a bit. Try to look relaxed.''

I considered my pose, and the angle the camera was taking pictures from. ''Are you sure that, ah, glamour shots are what we want for this article?''

''Oh no, Professor. Those aren't glamour shots.'' She grabbed the camera and dragged it down, leaving it snapping pictures less than a metre from my legs. ''_These_ are the glamour shots. And would it kill you to smile?''

''I am smiling.''

Behind Rita, the Headmistress took her wand off the little loop on her belt.

''No,'' said Rita. ''You're grimacing. People smile with their eyes.''

The Headmistress opened her collar a bit, showing more green lace. She made her wand disappear.

''That... Is not a smile.'' Rita looked at me. She turned to the Headmistress, eyeing her suspiciously. She studied the Headmistress' green lace and innocent expression. Then she turned back to me. ''No, we can't use these shots. One look at that expression and everyone will pull their children from Hogwarts.''

The Headmistress smiled at me.

I would have sworn under oath that tease was trying to kill me via spontaneous human combustion.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Excerpt from the special edition of the Daily Star, 30 August 2017.

''It's an incredible opportunity,'' he says. ''There's an entire world here to learn about. And I've never taught children before, so I'm really going to need to stretch my skills.''

Of course, in any given class he'll be the only person who can't cast spells. We ask him if he's worried about being jinxed by children. ''I'll have to rely on the kindness of strangers for that. Specifically, their parents. I'm sure that wizards and witches don't raise their children to run around Hexing defenceless Muggles.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Rita grabbed her camera from the air. ''I think we're nearly done here. This gives me enough to pull you out of that pit you've dug yourself into.''

''Thanks, Rita.'' Tone down the snark, Geoff. She really was doing you a favour here.

''Gally, on news on Professor Theobrosan?''

''Officially, no. Unofficially, when Charles chooses to announce his retirement the Star will be the first to know.''

A lightbulb went on in my head. If Professor Theobrosan was stepping down as Deputy Headmaster...

What had I seen? Idris attending professional events with the Headmistress. Idris attending private meetings with Galilea. Idris kept up late following a PR disaster involving a Hogwarts professor.

What am I? I'm an idiot.

''You're not _dating_ Professor Isgar. You're _promoting_ him.'' I really should have waited to say that.

The women fell silent. Galilea stared hard at me. She pulled her wand out and slapped it down on her desk.

''Geoffrey, did you not see Idris' ring?''

''What ring?''

Galilea frowned. Rita broke into a storm of laughter.

''Geoffrey Hunter you great bloody bampot!'' Galilea's usual upper class London tones vanished under a Hogsmeade accent. I didn't think that was a good sign.

''So he's married?''

''Yes! Happily! With three children! And did you think I'd be flirting with you if I were with another man?''

Only one possible answer to that. ''No. Absolutely not.''

Behind Galilea the portrait of Severus Snape opened his mouth, closed it quickly, and then turned on his heels and walked out of sight.

Galilea turned the full force of her frown on me. That woman has a glare like white-hot daggers. I stood my ground. Finally Galilea turned her scowl on Rita, who was dangerously close to laughing herself out of her chair.

''Rita, control yourself.'' She snapped.

Rita waved a hand in Galilea's general direction. She whooped with laughter, then fanned her face while struggling to catch her breath. She struggled upright in her chair. Finally she got her laughter under control. Wiping tears from her eyes she said, ''Oooh Gally! Brooding and self-absorbed. Just your type!''

''I am not brooding,'' I said. ''... Wait.''

That set Rita off again. Galilea growled under her breath.

''We will finish this conversation later, Geoffrey. Rita, all of this is off the record.''

''Oh noooo, no it's not.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Excerpt from the special edition of the Daily Star, 30 August 2017.

The new professor grins mischievously when asked his opinion of his new employer, Headmistress Galilea Grimward. ''My first impression was entirely favourable. She carries herself with a great deal of authority. It took me a few days to notice just how short she really is.''

The Headmistress' wardrobe has been the object of complaints from some parents (Rarely, we notice, from fathers). We ask Professor Hunter for his impression of her professional appearance. ''Honestly, I hadn't noticed her clothes at all. Perhaps Muggle fashions are very different from Wizarding styles?''

Or perhaps he's a very graceful liar.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Galilea and Rita hugged briefly, a pleasantly squishy event to watch. Rita blew me a quick kiss and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the small urn by the fireplace. I turned away before she could toss the powder down.

''Ta, Gally, Geoffrey! And don't worry about the press, we're the least of your problems now!''


	8. Chapter 8

Blah blah J. K. Rowling blah blah blah.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Rita was right.


	9. Chapter 9

Stories touch us. They change us. They seep through our minds and become part of our selves. J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. If you enjoy Harry Potter, J. K. Rowling owns a piece of _your_ _soul_.

('Salazurine' is vaguely Basque. It should be written with an accent above the _n_, and pronounced 'Salazurin_ye_', but my keyboard can't handle that.)

**CHAPTER NINE**

''Honeydukes claims that their candies are enchanted so that children can't become ill from over-indulging. Honeydukes underestimates the gorging capacity of an excited young child on their way to Hogwarts.''

Some of the Prefects and Head Students laughed at that. A few looked embarrassed. They'd all been First Years themselves.

Arrival, Sorting, Welcoming Feast... It must be a load of fun if you're eleven years old. Any older and it's just a load of work. The day starts with a meeting between staff and the more responsible senior students - Head Girls, Head Boys, Prefects, and a handful of younger students selected by the senior staff. Meanwhile the House-Elf army invades the student dormitories, sweeping, clearing away dust-covers, airing out the rooms, and generally getting rid of that musty unused air.

With the meeting done the Groundskeeper and Caretaker transport the older kids to King's Cross. Senior teaching staff leave via Disapparation or Floo Network at the same time. Some students simply won't be able to get to King's Cross on their own, for any number of reasons. The teachers will escort them to the station to meet the rest of the students.

Junior staff stay behind to help with preparing the Welcoming Feast. No matter how much work a House-Elf can do, or how many times they've done this before, something will always come up. At the very least, Peeves will try to disrupt things in the kitchen under the Great Hall. This year the Bloody Baron and Nearly Headless Nick almost came to blows after the Baron threw a tantrum at the Grey Sisters.

Galilea and Mr. Svensen had arranged for will-o'-the-wisps in the Great Hall rather than candles. ''I've been called many uncomplimentary things, Geoffrey, but never a sadist.''

I'd asked Galilea on a date as soon as Rita had left. On top of everything else I had to arrange reservations and a car rental for Saturday. By owl.

I found Sister Shibley crying in the chapel, still upset after being yelled at by the Bloody Baron. I calmed her down and resolved to learn how to kick a ghost's ass.

While Professor Theobrosan reminded the local merpeople that Hogwarts' students were _not_ edible, Professor Binns and I had a last minute argument over student access to certain books. I won, which meant that my Third Years did not have to go digging through the library's restricted books section for _Uses_ _Of_ _Evisceration_ _Curses_ _During_ _Famous_ _Wizarding_ _Duels_. No one is going to mess with _my_ course syllabus at the last minute, undead or not.

I went a little overboard planning Saturday's date. The Gringotts' services department filtered my owl mail through to the restaurant and car rental agency. Galilea hadn't been out on a date in nearly two years, and hadn't been out in Muggle London in nearly two decades. I rented a high-end car and booked reservations at an expensive place with great reviews.

Later in the day I helped Rubeus hitch up the Thestrals. And by 'helped' I mean held stuff and passed it to him when he asked. I know almost nothing about any animal other than polar bears and seals. Thestrals are amazing creatures though, and I said so to Rubeus.

''Yeah. Beautiful, ain't they? So, ye've heard about what it means if you can see 'em?''

''I've seen lots of people die. What did you expect, when you summoned someone with no close personal ties?''

''Fair enough. Hand me th' breechin' tackle.''

Some of the staff went down to Hogsmeade Station to help round up kids. First Years would arrive by boat, in a tradition that dated back to the age of Hogwarts as fortress. Older students would be brought in by Thestral-drawn carriages, in a tradition dating back to a former member of the Board of Governors with a morbid fear of the giant squid eating her children.

Professors Theobrosan and Fairbairn, Neville, and I stayed behind to keep an eye on things. Neville grinned at me. ''Got your lucky underpants, Geoffrey?''

''I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of anti-Hex Shield-Charmed boxers. Furthermore, my employer instructs me to remind people that a man of my heritage qualifies as a true Scotsman, and is entitled to dress as such if he so chooses.''

Set up for a formal, the Great Hall is a spectacular sight. Tonight the sky was dark, too heavily clouded to show moon or stars, but the will o' the wisps darting above the tables cast a warm amber light over the tables. The goblin-gold place settings shone like harvest moons. Newly-woven House Banners floated above the tables, the ancient ones having been burnt in the Battle of Hogwarts.

I felt a little odd, looking at the writhing green and silver banner of 'my' House. Salazar of Salazurine hadn't held strong feelings one way or the other about Muggles with the Sight. It had been Muggle-born wizards and witches he didn't trust, and given what Bagshot said about 10th Century England I wouldn't have trusted those bastards either. But he certainly wouldn't have taken me as a student. And the Purebloods who favoured that House would have been horrified to hear that I'd been Sorted to it.

Rubeus claimed that there had never been a wizard or witch who went Dark that hadn't been from Slytherin House. Never mind the fact that he personally knew three from Gryffindor. Despite the best efforts of Minerva McGonagall and Galilea Grimward, Slytherin remained the House of Ill-Repute.

If ever there was a house divided against itself, it was the Wizarding World.

The staff returned first, Galilea carrying the Hat and an old stool that she placed in front of the staff tables. Junior staff such as myself, Farnsworth, Burke, Rubeus, Svensen, and Lestrange would sit at the rear table. Senior staff would sit at the front table, where the new students could get an eyeful.

Speaking of eyefuls - Despite or maybe because of what Rita had said, Galilea wore perfectly respectable formal robes in peach and cream. Respectable, but very edible.

The return of the older students distracted me from thoughts of Saturday and dessert. They lined up in their places, still whispering amongst themselves as they caught up with school friends. There weren't a lot compared to a Muggle school, but I knew it was more than there had been twenty years ago. Following the demographic crisis during the Wizarding Wars, wizards and witches had bred like rabbits in Australia. Most families had four-plus kids. These older kids weren't even the peak of the recent boom.

_That_ was about to come through the door. Just over a thousand pre-teens, cold, excited, scared, tired, hungry, sick from too much candy...

I had a pretty bad case of nerves myself.

Galilea shushed the students. On cue the doors at the front of the Great Hall swung open and in walked Deputy Headmaster Theobrosan. His bushy white beard and huge smile made him look like a black Santa Claus. Behind him came the mob...

Well, as far as mobs go they were very subdued. They stayed quiet as they came down the aisle. Quiet and pale. A few waved to the older kids, siblings or cousins maybe. But for the most part their eyes were on the Sorting Hat. By this point even the Muggle-borns would know it was Very Important.

A long line of one thousand children, all dressed alike in those ridiculous black robes the Board refused to give up. At least Galilea had won the battle to rid Hogwarts of pointy black caps.

With the mob at last all through the doors, Galilea stepped in front of the stool. ''Welcome, returning students.'' For such a small woman she had a very carrying voice. ''Be seated, please.''

She waited for the shuffling to die down. ''Welcome, First Years. The Sorting Hat will now begin.'' And she stepped aside, and let the Hat start its work.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Please allow me to introduce myself

I'm the Hat that knows your place.

I've been around for a long long year

Seen many a youth's hidden face.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

A few names stood out, both famous and infamous. The children of the previous generation's child-soldiers had started trickling in to Hogwarts earlier, but this year was a near flood. Creevey, Lestrange, Malfoy, Potter, Selwyn, Weasley...

Galilea feared children trying to fight out family grudges. Rubeus feared bullies picking on his quiet godson. Neville worried that their parents were more likely to object if these kids became friends.

George Weasley owled me to tell me to keep his beloved neice safe from that Malfoy kid, and that I should remember he had a wand and I didn't. I'd forwarded - For-owled? - the letter on to Ron Weasley, along with a note expressing my concern that the daughter of two famous Aurors couldn't protect herself against an eleven year old boy. The last owl of the day came from George Weasley, asking me to call off his step-sister.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Emily Brown I, Gryffindor. Emily Brown II, Hufflepuff. Emily Brown III, Gryffindor. Emily Brown IV, Ravenclaw.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Harry Brown, Slytherin.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Hermione Brown, Hufflepuff.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

If you have a common last name, do your child a favour and choose anything other than a famous/common first name for them.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Jenny Everywhere, Slytherin.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Scorpius Malfoy. Pale, thin. When the Hat announced ''Gryffindor!'' I thought Hagrid would choke to death on his drink. The boy thanked Galilea, and then made his way through the crowd of First Years shaking hands. If there'd been a baby available he probably would have kissed it.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Albus Potter. The kind of shaggy hair that tells you the kid is trying to hide from the world. When the Hat said ''Slytherin!'', Rubeus crushed his goblet.

Severus Snape has three portraits. One in Galilea's office, one in the school infirmary, and one in the Poisons and Potions Ward of St. Mungo's.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Azrael Selwyn, Gryffindor.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Ronald Selwyn, Ravenclaw.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Harry Taylor I, Ravenclaw. Harry Taylor II, Gryffindor. Harry Taylor III, Hufflepuff. Harry Taylor IV, Hufflepuff. Harry Taylor _**V**_, Hufflepuff.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Seriously, Wizarding Britain, buy a damn baby-names book already.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Rose Weasley. The sun is not that girl's friend. When the Hat said ''Ravenclaw!'' I thought Rubeus might weep. The daughter of a champion chess player and the woman who'd personally written the entire book on Wizarding forensics practically skipped over to her new House.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Alice Wyvern, Ravenclaw.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

And at the end of it all? A vast sense of anticlimax. Because _this_ September First fell on a Friday.


	10. Chapter 10

J. K. Rowling has asserted her right under UK law to be identified both as the creator of the Harry Potter intellectual property and as a MILF.

Tip of the day: Follow Evy_Lynch & TomFelton on Twitter.

**CHAPTER TEN**

''Neville, if there's one thing I've learned in the past week it's that Gryffs are terrible liars. I know you use the Floo Network most days.''

Neville didn't quite blush, but he looked a little warm. ''I don't mind Apparating in to work. And if you wanted to Side-Along...''

''Yeah, it would solve a lot of problems.'' I looked around Diagon Alley, feeling nostalgic as I watched the groups of shoppers. Narrow cobblestone street, old shops packed close in together, tiny flats above the shops... It reminded me of Old Quebec. Jessi and I had spent a couple of Christmases there while visiting her grandparents. It had been nice to be part of a family again, even just for a little while.

''Mainly it would solve the privacy problem. The East Wing bathroom just isn't a good place to shower when it's packed with students.'' The Witch's Rest Café was a bit crowded that morning, but Neville and I had managed a table by the bay window. I kept an eye on the street. If I craned my neck I would be able to see Ollivanders, but I was looking for Jezebel Rosier.

''Yes,'' said Neville. ''I hear we've already received over two hundred complaints about you. Just think how they'd react if they knew you were showering with their children.''

Witch's Rest served a tea that could wake the dead. Black tea, cloves, rum, and cinnamon, served with lemon. I'd already eaten breakfast at Hogwarts and it wasn't time for lunch, but I'd ordered toast just based on the smell of the place. ''Problem is, how would I get around if you're sick?''

Neville shrugged. ''Hire an Apparatus, an Apparation professional. It's like hiring a Muggle cabby. They're a bit expensive, but there's usually one or two waiting about the pub. They don't get a lot of business, but it's enough to make a living.''

''How much?''

''Five Galleons one way. Seven and a bit both ways, a little more if you want them to wait while you run an errand.''

''Huh.'' I chewed on my toast for a minute, thinking. I washed it down with another shot of tea. ''This place has really good baking.''

''George's wife owns the Witch's Rest. I don't come by as often as I should.'' Neville looked around at the café interior. ''It's a bit feminine for my tastes.''

Judging by the clientèle it was where witchly MILFs went for tea and pastries. I could deal with flowers on the table for a view like that. And the baked goods were amazing.

''There are Muggle coffee shops in the area, aren't there?''

''Right on Charing Cross Road. You could get your internet there, and drop in to the Cauldron for firewhisky. Best of both worlds.''

''Yeah. I'll have to look around. Listen, before you go there's something I've been meaning to ask you.''

''I distill Galilea's perfumes for her on special commission, she has loads of jewellery, I've no idea what her favourite flower is, and I don't know and don't want to know what size she wears.''

''How'd you get your job if you don't know how to bribe your boss? No, this is about an old teacher of yours.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

We'd discussed security and Jezebel over breakfast, Galilea, Professor Fairbairn, and I.

Only half the staff were there for Saturday's breakfast. Neville ate at home, Rubeus always woke early to tend the animals, and most of the rest were hung over.

But all of the students were there, and my God the din they made. Most of the peak of the Wizarding baby boom were there under the grey sky of the Great Hall. Black-robed students gossiping, arguing, flirting, posing, building their alliances and enmities. The air was full of owls and paper airplanes, and little sparks of light passed between those students who could cast Messaging Charms.

''Nev will take you in to Diagon Alley a bit early,'' said Professor Ewart Fairbairn. A lean, wiry man with scarred hands and face, Fairbairn wore simple black and grey robes. His clothes were practical, like his short hair, and he had the same calm measuring gaze as the sharpshooter I'd met once. Or the sociopath who'd spoken in a psych lecture I'd attended. ''That will give you time to check the lay of the land. And Nev has a few errands to run for Hannah.''

For no reason I'd heard, Neville's nickname in the Aurors had been 'Knock Nicely Nev'. I'd have to get the story from him some day.

''Are we certain Miss Rosier's intentions aren't honest?'' Asked Galilea. We were probably sitting a bit too close together.

''You saw me at dinner. I was babbling and sweating the whole evening. And then she sends me that letter saying what an interesting conversation it was, and she'd like to see me again? Not to mention what Ron Weasley said about her.'' I shook my head, then had a sip of tea. ''No. The only way I could have made a worst first impression would have been to throw up on her.''

''I remember that date,'' said Fairbairn. Galilea and I both looked at him. ''Too much gillyweed brandy.''

''What's the slogan?'' Asked Galilea. '''Drink Like A Lord, Sleep With The Fishes'?''

''That's the one.'' Fairbairn _hmph_ed, then got back to business. ''Neville will run his errands, which just coincidentally will keep him in the area. And I spoke to an old friend in the MLE. There'll be a team of Hit-Witches in civvies around Witch's Rest.''

''Officially or unofficially?'' Asked Galilea.

''Un.'' Fairbairn sipped his tea. ''My friend's daughter has her eye on the latest Comet. The Mach Go. One hundred and twenty-five Galleons.''

''I will bury it in the purchases for Hogwarts.''

By the standards of Muggle Britain or North America, Wizarding Britain was spectacularly corrupt. The 'great reformer' Shacklebolt hadn't even tried to tackle that yet in any serious manner. According to Galilea doing so would probably cost him his job, and give his opponents a chance to attack all his other work.

''I don't like this, Geoffrey. It seems reckless.''

''Well, the Wizarding World hasn't adopted suicide bombing as a tactic - ''

''_Excuse_ me? Does that mean what I think it does?'' She looked horrified.

''If you think it means blowing yourself up in a public place and murdering a bunch of kids, then yeah. But there's no sign that Rosier is any sort of frontline fighter or suicidal butcher. I don't like it either, but I want some idea of what The One Hundred has in mind for me.''

''We'll keep him in one piece, Galilea. And if worse comes to worse, Knock Nicely is there to talk them to death.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I didn't make it out of Hogwarts until a bit after that. There was one thing I wanted to do as early as possible, just to show that back-handed son of a bitch up.

I found Albus Potter in the Quad, watching his brother horse around with some older boys.

''James Potter, don't try to pretend that wasn't you. This is your first warning. The second comes with ten points off Gryffindor.'' The brat actually grinned at me.

Albus Potter looked up at me from under his mop of reddish brown hair. He'd had a very serious expression last night as he'd approached the Sorting Hat. He had the same expression this morning.

''Good morning, Mr. Potter. If you've got a few minutes, there's someone who'd like to speak to you.'' Even if he'd never admit it.

''Am I in trouble, Professor?'' Rubeus was right. The kid was a bit of a worrier.

''Nope. Your brother might be though.'' I watched them for a few seconds. Their game wasn't quite as brutal as watching the pongos at combat football. ''Nah. No harm, no foul. So, do you have a bit of time?''

He looked back towards his brother, then shrugged. ''Sure.''

I led him off. As we were about to leave the Quad I yelled over my shoulder. ''I saw that, James Potter! Ten from Gryffindor, just like I warned you! And another fifteen for that gesture!''

Professor Theobrosan had given me a small Charmed bracelet that let me control House points. Good thing too. James Potter was the third kid I'd had to penalize that morning. God, I hoped they would all settle down soon.

We found the stairs in the Hospital Tower easily enough. A few of the professors complained about the castle's shifting floor plan, but I'd never had trouble getting around. ''Your brother and his friends snuck into some off-limits areas a while back. Had a grand adventure in the underground chambers.''

''He told me about it.''

''Did he tell you he lost a very valuable gift your father gave him? An inheritance from your grandfather?'' I'd gotten some of the story from Galilea, the rest from Rubeus.

''No.'' His eyes widened a bit. I had his complete attention here.

''If he'd just been caught in the off-limits area Gal - The Headmistress probably wouldn't have searched him. He could have kept that gift. But he wanted to show off to his friends, so he damaged school property. Lots of courage, and he wants to be seen. That's why he's in Gryffindor.'' And, if Rita Skeeter could be trusted about House traits, a total lack of common sense.

We stopped outside the doors to Madam Bones' domain. ''You don't need to answer this if you don't want to. I'm just curious. Why are you in my House, Mr. Potter?''

The son of the most famous wizard in Britain looked at me, his expression still serious. ''The Hat asked me if I wanted to be 'James Potter's little brother' all my life.''

''Did it say anything about your parents?''

The boy blushed a bit. He shrugged.

''Well, Slytherin's a good place for you if you don't want to be 'Harry Potter's son' all your life.''

He shoots, he scores. Albus Potter turned bright red. I turned away to give him a bit of privacy and opened the door to the school hospital.

There were a half-dozen robed kids in there, but only two of them were being looked at by Healers. The rest looked as though they were just there for their friends. I led Albus past the weepy-eyed kids, down the rows of beds to Madam Bones' office door.

I knocked, then opened the door when she called out. I stuck my head in. ''Sorry to interrupt, but is the Headmaster in? I have someone here to meet him.''

''The Headmaster? Oh yes, I see.'' She smiled slightly. ''Yes, he's in.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Of course he'd never thank me for it. But he'd owe me. And Severus Snape never forgot a debt.


	11. Chapter 11

Every time you violate the Harry Potter copyright J. K. Rowling eats a kitten.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After Neville left I finished off my toast and sat back, sipping tea and watching the people in Diagon Alley. I kept an eye out for Jezebel Rosier, but mainly my attention was on witches and wizards going about their business. I saw far fewer kids than in my previous visits, which made sense. And the bright robes and heavy cloaks were starting to look normal to me. I'd worn my new hunter green cloak over buff and tan clothes today. A big warm cloak is a great comfort on a Fall day in Britain.

Honestly, that was the part about The One Hundred that really bothered me. They threatened that growing sense of normal, that comfort. They wanted me out of the Wizarding World. I liked Hogwarts, I liked my new world. I intended to stay.

It reminded me of my mother. She'd taught me to believe in magic. I'd believed until I'd gone to high school and discovered adolescent cynicism.

''Professor Hunter?''

I sloshed tea over my hand. Luckily it was cool, but so much for keeping an eye out.

I pushed my chair back and stood to greet Jezebel Rosier. Today she had her red hair pulled back into a tight bun. She wore teal robes with purple trim, and had a heavy green cloak folded over one arm. If it weren't for Galilea I'd be very happy to have tea with this woman. Well, that and the whole Muggle-hating terrorist business.

''I'm sorry, Miss Rosier. I didn't see you there. I tend to drift away when I'm thinking.'' I finished drying my hand and held it out for her to shake. ''Let me take that... '' I draped her cloak and purse over the back of a spare chair.

We sat across the table from one another. I prepared myself for a battle of wits, fought over a terrain of flowery centrepieces and lace place-cloths.

Jezebel fired her first shot in the war. ''You were lost in pleasant thoughts, I hope?''

''I was thinking about my family. My mother and her ancestors. I'd like to track down a little more information about my great-grandmother. I have her birth name, but that's about it. I know more about her husband, Mungan Puttock.''

A girl in dark blue robes took Jezebel's order for tea. When the girl left Jezebel turned back to me. ''The pastries here are wonderful, but I only just ate. The baker is a Squib who studied in a Muggle school. Whatever she does in the kitchen, it's amazing.''

''I want to get a flat on Diagon Alley. I won't pretend the bread here isn't part of that.''

Jezebel looked around the front of the little tea shop. ''Yes. It would be almost worth the rent, wouldn't it?''

Did terrorists spend a lot of time in tea shops? The conversation was off to a downright pleasant start. Well, give it a few minutes.

''Have you heard the phrase 'Blood-hound', Professor Hunter?''

''No. But I'm guessing it has nothing to do with dogs. And I know your people say 'blood' when you're talking about genealogy''

''A Blood-hound is a wizard or witch obsessed with tracking their ancestry. Always baying up the family tree, we say.''

''Genealogists are useful in my profession. Although they're usually pretty limited in scope.''

Jezebel's forehead creased briefly. ''I think you'll find Wizarding family trees even more limited. Most Blood-hounds are also Blood-purists. Whole branches of a tree will simply - ''

The girl brought Jezebel's order. Jezebel poured her tea and stirred in a bit of milk and sugar. I waited patiently. Rushing the British over their tea is a good way to get yourself killed.

''What do you know of your great-grandmother, Professor?''

''Not much. I dug out our family bible a couple of days ago and checked the family tree. Her married name name was Ginny Puttock, and she was born Virginia Black in a little village near Bristol. And that's it.''

''A village near Bristol? Was it close to the Channel, Professor?''

''Don't know. Why?'' 'Close' is a relative term. From a Canadian perspective Hogsmeade Village is close to London.

''Well, if Virginia Black were born in an unnamed little village in the West Country - ''

''I'm an idiot.'' I gave my head a shake at my own stupidity. ''Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. But it was right there in Bagshot. Godric's Hollow, West Country. She was probably a Squib, wasn't she?''

Jezebel nodded. ''The Blacks were infamous for disowning Squibs. And quite a few Pureblood families use names from astronomy or mythology. Virginia, Virginis.''

That didn't really prove anything, but it suggested an obvious line of research. One more mental note.

Jezebel sipped her tea, then added a bit more tea to the cup. ''Entire branches of a family will vanish from family or Ministry records, if someone marries a Muggle or a Squib, or if there are too many Squibs born to certain parents. It still happens, even after Minister Shacklebolt's reforms. There is an entire Squib community in Wisbech, around Witches Abbey. They are almost wholly disconnected from their Wizarding relatives, but they can never fully leave the Wizarding World. They don't have the proper papers or education, you see. For the most part they work for the goblins, in one of the import or estate firms.''

''Are they paid in Galleons and Sickles?''

''Yes! Which they can't spend outside of Wizarding shops, and can't exchange at Muggle banks.''

This conversation was not going anywhere I'd expected. ''So if they do manage to get a bit of Muggle cash, or their school or some sort of training, I'm guessing they don't stick around.''

Shaking her head, Jezebel leaned forward on the table. ''Why would they? If they can get their papers, what does our world have to offer them? They leave, and they never look back. Unless one of their children or grandchildren is born a wizard.''

''Well, I guess I know where I got the Sight from.''

''I've heard Mud-bloods call it - '' She blushed and made a sour face. ''I apologize, Professor. Truly. The Blacks aren't the only family with a poor attitude regarding Muggle-borns. My parents still use that sort of language, but that doesn't mean it's acceptable.''

''Apology accepted. Do wizards and witches not call it the Sight?''

''No. I don't know that there's even a word for it. Witches and wizards can see spirits, or see through Muggle-Repelling Charms. Even Squibs have that to some degree.''

''Professor Burke tells me that some parents of Muggle-born students do as well. She handles most of the Charms-work that lets Muggle parents function in Diagon Alley, or at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. But not every Muggle parent needs to be Illuminated.''

Jezebel's eyes went a bit wide. ''That is fascinating. But how could they not be registered by the Hogwarts Quill?''

''I guess they can't use wands, like me. The Sight can't be the only non-wand talent out there either. Caretaker Svensen told me there used to be a student at Hogwarts who could change shape.''

''A Metamorphmagus. They're very rare.''

''I think that's what he called it. But he's got a Swedish accent a mile thick. Half the time I can't understand a word he says.''

Jezebel chuckled politely. ''Now Professor, I hate to rush but I do have appointments today. I asked to speak to you for a reason.''

Yes, and by then I was sure it wasn't the reason I'd thought. Jezebel continued. ''And I'm very interested to hear about your Squib ancestry. I work with a group involved in the struggle for the very soul of Wizarding Society, one concerned with the role of Squibs in our culture - ''

Okay. Now to the meat of the matter. Jezebel pulled some items from her purse.

She plunked the pamphlets and buttons down on the table. ''The Society for the Support of Squibs is an educational foundation. We support training programs and job-finding workshops for Squibs, and we'd like your help, Professor. The Oakby Centre needs skilled educators.''


	12. Chapter 12

J. K. Rowling and the Lawsuit of Doom, coming soon to a bookstore near you!

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Jezebel Rosier worked full time at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Education's tiny Squib Opportunities Office. Basically it was her, the Office Head, and a part-time clerk, trying to provide for an estimated 2800-4300 Squibs. Evenings and weekends Jezebel did administrative work for the Society for the Support of Squibs and helped run the Oakby Centre Library.

That woman didn't have time to be a terrorist. She barely had time to sleep.

The meeting with Neville was easily the most confusing in either of my careers. Even worse than the interdepartmental fight after the incident with the women's volleyball team and the chess society. At least there was firewhisky at Neville's place. With nothing really sorted out, Neville left promising to speak to Galilea and Fairbairn. I left for my interview with the Ollivanders.

I'd expected a more upscale shop. The Ollivander Family weren't Pureblood, but they were a very old and well established family. Most witches or wizards bought their wands at Ollivanders, and had them repaired or modified there. But the chief arms merchants to Wizarding Britain operated out of a narrow little place across the street from a junk shop. Behind a door with peeling paint I found a dusty little shop with aisles squeezed between rows of racks. And on those racks were long thin boxes, and cloth wrappings, and brown paper envelopes.

I had the oddest sensation of being _watched_ by those packages. I wondered how the children felt in this dry, quiet place.

A little old man with no hair smiled at me as I came through the door. He leaned on a cane with one hand, and in his other he held a newspaper. The special edition of the Daily Star, I realized. He squinted at me, dark eyes peering out of a face like a dried apple. Then he grinned. ''Glinda! Professor Tight-Breeches is here to see you!''

Rita Skeeter must die.

''Yes, hello, you've read the article, eh?''

''Nope! M'eyes aren't worth a damn these days!'' He stomped his cane and laughed. ''Nothing works the way it did, once yer past it! But you'll learn that soon enough!'' Still cackling he limped away, banging his cane on the floor with every step.

A white-haired woman stepped out of a little door near the back of the shop. She came up through the aisle, yelled genially at the old man to show some respect to guests, and stopped in front of me. White haired and dressed in plain black clothes, but not as old as my first impression. Maybe ten to twenty years older than me, it was hard to tell. She had a pale complexion and obviously had never spent much time in the sun, sparing her skin a lot of damage.

''You'll have to forgive Gran'da,'' she said. I recognized her accent as that of someone who'd been raised in Hogsmeade Village. Think of an East Anglian accent, with some Received Pronounciation in the vowels and bits of Scottish slang thrown in. ''He's been playing at old coot for thirty years now, and it's starting to go to his head. Glinda Burke, but I use Ollivander in correspondence.''

We shook hands as I introduced myself. Glinda had blunt fingernails and tool-calloused hands. Wandcraft was not an academic pursuit.

''I'm not sure what we can do for you, Professor Hunter.'' She looked me up and down as she spoke. It wasn't elevator eyes. It was more like she was measuring me for a suit. ''So far as I know, none of my ancestors have ever kept diaries or any sort of historical journals.''

''But you do keep business records. And an interview with your grandfather would probably be very profitable.''

''These days, his favourite resting place is that café across the street. The young women there think he's sweet, the stupid things. Buy him a pot of tea with a little extra in it and he'll talk your ears off. Wait here.'' She went into the back of the shop. I amused myself by looking at the few wands on display, thin sticks of wood in little racks. They looked like miniature pool cues waiting for tiny players. I kept my hands to myself. Galilea, Neville, Isgar, Rubeus, and three portraits had all warned me about touching wands.

Glinda came back with a young man in black clothes. He looked about the same age as her, but had darker salt and pepper hair. They each carried an armful of small boxes. ''Professor Hunter, this is my cousin Grimward. Come over to the counter please.''

''Call me Ward,'' said the thin-faced man. ''Try this, please.''

He handed me a long cardboard box. ''Are you related to the Grimward family?'' I asked.

''My grandmother was a Grimward. Of course you work with my cousin Gally. Please, try the wand.''

Gally? Really? That was actually her nickname? I couldn't wrap my mind around that one.

I looked at the box in my hand. ''Are you sure that's safe? I've been warned about picking up wands.''

Glinda spoke up. ''There are no aspected wands in Ollivanders. If the person rejects a wand that has imprinted on them we will, sadly, recycle it.''

''Right. Well...'' I opened the box and unwrapped the wand inside. I picked it up. Well, it was a wand all right. Wood. Sticklike. I switched it over to my left hand. Yep. Still a stick.

''I don't want to be a stick in the mud - ''

''Ha,'' said Glinda.

''Sorry. Couldn't resist. But I'm a Muggle. I can cast spells about as well as a Squib.''

Ward took the wand from my hand and repackaged it. ''Yes, but you're a Muggle who sees through Anti-Muggle Charms. We've never tried to pair someone like that to a wand before.'' He rubbed his hands together. ''This is a challenge. Pairing First Years is rush work, but it's hardly challenging. Here. American Hickory, twelve inches, unicorn hair.''

When you want information from people, it never hurts to indulge them. And honestly, wandlore looked like the key technology in Wizarding Britain. I decided to play along. I took the wand in my left hand and swished it a bit.

''Are you left-handed, Professor?'' Asked Glinda.

''Call me Geoffrey. I'm cross-dominant, actually. I write with my right hand, but I shoot right. Ah, sorry. Hockey-speak. Means I'm a southpaw, if that makes more sense. I use my left for physical tasks - Throwing, catching, stuff like that.''

I'd had the opportunity to take grenade training once. I'd been so nervous I'd forgotten to mention that little detail to the Master Corporal prepping the grenades. Long story short, he punched me out.

''Oh,'' said Glinda. She grabbed about half the boxes they'd brought. ''These are out. Ward, let's find a few helix-cores.''

''And the coils, I think.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Holly, twelve inches long, three-quarters of an inch thick. Dragon heartstring in a helix core.''

You know those really old cartoons? The ones where a woman has gone shoe shopping and she's surrounded by boxes of shoes that she's rejected? After twenty minutes of trying to fit me to a wand, Ollivanders looked a bit like that. We'd dragged some chairs over to the counter, and Glinda and Ward had settled into a routine. They'd pass me a wand, I'd swish the wand, the wand would do nothing for me, they'd write notes and make significant noises. Then they'd pass me a wand...

It was a lot more interesting than it sounds. I was learning quite a lot about wandlore.

''Let's try a coiled core next...''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''It's all ratios,'' Glinda told me. ''Nine times out of ten, everything you need to know is right there in the face. Length of nose, depth of philtrum ridges, general complexion...''

''Body type is important too,'' put in Ward. ''Broad-boned, light-boned. Height. Not so much weight, that changes too easily.''

''Here. Oak, eleven and three-quarters. Fluted handle.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Ward was starting to look a bit sick of it all. I hoped I could escape soon, but Glinda still seemed enthusiastic.

''Leo,'' she said. ''A fire sign, and one of the four Fixed Signs.''

''But not dragon heartstring,'' said Ward. ''We've determined that.''

The shop door opened and a young woman came in. She looked familiar, but I couldn't place her. Of course, I'd spent last evening staring at the adolescents of the Wizarding World, so it could easily be a family resemblance.

''I've got this.'' Ward left to help the woman.

Glinda tugged her jacket sleeves back a bit. ''Right. Let's try a complete shot in the dark... '' She rummaged in her pile of boxes for a minute. ''Vine. Unicorn hair.''

Picking it up was like... Licking a battery. All over your skin. I put it down immediately. ''_No_. Just... No.''

''Yes. Charm is not your forte. How does your arm feel?''

I rotated my shoulder a bit. ''Like I slept on it. Not completely numb, but it's not a good feeling.''

''Hm. Outright rejection. Well, that leaves us with phoenix feather. That should be easy, we don't carry many of those cores. Battle magic, typically. You were a soldier... ''

''No, I was a Log Wog. A bookkeeper. I just worked for an employer with a strict dress code.'' There's a reason I usually don't tell people about that job. Civilians have trouble grasping the difference between being a real soldier and just being in the Armed Forces.

''Professor Hunter?'' Glinda and I both looked up at the interruption. The familiar woman stood a few feet away, watching me. A brunette, a bit short, slim but still nicely curvy. ''Why are you looking at wands? I thought you were a Muggle?''

''I am,'' I said, stalling for time. ''But the Ollivander family is giving me a bit of a crash course on wandlore. It's obviously an important subject if I want to understand Wizarding society.''

Hair, beads, cornrows, foot corns - Cornfoot! Right, she'd sat next to me at the formal disaster. ''And you, Miss Cornfoot?''

''Oh, I dropped my wand. I was afraid I might have cracked the wood?'' She looked to the back of the shop. ''That man is having a look at it. I hope it's not damaged.''

She looked worried. I couldn't say I blamed her. A wand is a witch's entire toolkit, general purpose appliance, complete lifestyle accessory, and weapon. Being without a wand left you functionally handicapped in Wizarding Britain.

Welcome to my world, Miss Cornfoot.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''It's not just the length of the wand,'' Ward had told me earlier. ''The ratio of core to wand is crucial, as is the style of the core. Helical, coiled, straight... Straight is the simplest of the cores. Harry Potter himself had a very straightforward wand, despite its famous kinship with Riddle's wand. That one held a simple wand as well. Nice straight core, basic three and a half ratio, nothing too tricky about the wand wood.''

''The properties of the wood subtly alter the wand-core ratio, and its resonances with the bearer.'' Glinda explained. ''Here. Willow, with a phoenix feather core.''

''I like this one.'' It looked a bit like a letter opener, or a blade of grass.

Both their faces had lit up.

''Ah, sorry. I mean, aesthetically? It's pretty.''

''I'll break out the grass-blade wands.''

More boxes piled on boxes.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Ward returned from the back of the shop, carrying Cornfoot's wand. ''Little more than a nick,'' he said. ''I won't even charge you for cleaning that up.''

Her face lit up. She looked like a woman suffering from bad cramps, right at the moment when the painkillers have kicked in and she realizes there's a fresh tub of ice cream and a hot bath waiting for her. She breathed a sigh of relief and took her wand from Ward. He led her over to a display to try and sell her a wand-pouch of woven willow bark. ''Very restful for unicorn hair cores,'' he said.

Glinda brushed her hands off on her pants. ''Well, Professor Hunter. I hate to admit it but you were right. Unless you'd care to try our speciality line... ''

''I'll pass. I've got a busy day ahead of me. Still some work to do for classes Monday, and I've got a date tonight.'' Bragging? Moi?

We both stood. ''Somewhere nice, I hope?''

''A Muggle restaurant. I've never been there, but it has great reviews.''

''That's good,'' said Glinda. She raised her voice a bit. ''_Some_ men will take a lady any old place. Like the Witch's Brew.''

''I was nineteen,'' said Ward. He and his customer exchanged glances.

''Family,'' she said, rolling her eyes.

I drifted away from this display of familial warmth and loyalty, thinking about tonight. A quiet Saturday night with a beautiful witch would be the perfect way to prepare for next week. I needed to get a gift. Something compact, flirty, and packing a punch. Gifts, like wands, should match the recipient. Clothes were out. Galilea had a unique dress sense, not quite witchy but not quite Muggle, and I didn't know her size. Wine or jewellery were clichéd, and honestly I didn't know her well enough to know her taste.

Well, I had two witches here. Why not ask the experts? ''I need a gift. What would you recommend for a first date?''

''A nice restaurant,'' said Cornfoot. ''Not some dingy old pub in Witches Abbey.''

''I'll never live that down, will I?''

''I found a nice one,'' I assured her. ''A Spanish place, _El_ _Gran_ _Comprobar_.''

Glinda made a thoughtful noise. ''Don't go overboard. And nothing that rushes things.''

''I'm not buying her lingerie, if that's what you mean.''

''Good,'' Glinda said. ''Does she like jewellery? Something small might be nice.''

''She does, but I'm not sure what she already has.''

''Books?'' Asked Cornfoot. ''Is she a reader?''

''Oh yeah, definitely. Her office is packed. There's barely enough room for the portraits with all the bookshelves.'' Actually, books hadn't been the only thing on her shelves...

''That's it! Thanks for your help, Glinda, Miss Cornfoot.''

I left Ollivanders in search of small miracles.


	13. Chapter 13

THIS! IS! **ROWLIIIIIIIIIIIING**!

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Magic mirrors. They sound like a great idea but in practice they're just a huge pain in the ass. I'd selected something pretty similar to what I'd worn to the Ministry - Camel-brown pants, cream-coloured shirt with gold tones, green vest with thin camel and gold pinstriping, no tie this time. That all looked okay, but I wasn't sure if my boots and belt went with the outfit, or if their chunky gold buckles were too much. I checked from a few different angles, but had to give up when my reflection threw its hands in the air and walked out of sight.

''How's my hair, you tosser?'' My reflection stuck a hand back in the mirror-frame and gave me the finger.

Meetings, people trying to recruit me to teach computer literacy programs, debriefings, dealing with over-excited kids, wand-browsing, gift shopping, and now my mirror-image was giving me a hard time. I gave up and pulled on the camel tailcoat I'd bought with the pants. It would have to be good enough.

My little room at Hogwarts was still cluttered with boxes, even after I'd reorganized. I grabbed the tiny gift-wrapped package off a pile of boxes and made my way around the obstacle course - Boxes, chairs, tables, and finally the door. I don't own all that much stuff, but having it all packed makes it hard to get it out of the way. I locked the door behind me and set out in a generally Headmistress' Tower-ly direction.

By this time of the evening there were few students in the corridors. If they were old enough not to be in their House dorms after curfew, then they were old enough to be out on a Saturday night. I ran in to one boy who seemed a bit lost, and pointed him in the general direction of the Hufflepuff Sett: Downwards, ask the portraits, and follow the smells that seem to lead towards the kitchens. Seriously, if you worry too much about turns and doors and corridors Hogwarts will drive you mad. Just make an honest effort to get where you need to be and trust the castle to do the rest. This time the castle gave me what might have been a lovely view of the Quad, looking out from grand arched windows in the third floor Transfiguration Corridor. Unfortunately the sun sets early in northern Scotland and a light drizzle hid the moon.

Also, there are no windows on the north wall of the north-side Transfiguration Corridor, and if there were they wouldn't over look the Quad. Never mind. I made it to Galilea's tower in less time than usual. The gargoyle sneered as I mangled the password, but it let me through to the stairwell. The trip up seemed to take a little longer than usual.

The stone door slid aside and I entered a round room I'd never seen before. But I had no eyes for the room.

Galilea had left her hair loose. It spilled down across her shoulders, shining almost silver in the light. I could barely see the gold in it. I'd never seen her hair down before, and hadn't realized just how pale it was.

''You look amazing.'' I held out the little package I'd wrapped in silver paper. Muggle wrapping paper. The Wizarding paper I'd seen had moving pictures, or changing patterns, or cute singing animals and kids. It's distracting. ''Here. I found this for you in a little shop on Diagon Alley.''

''Geoffrey, thank you.'' While she looked over her gift I took a minute to look at her. Green silk ribbons came down across her shoulders and fell into a V-neckline, meeting as a bow between her breasts. The pale green ribbons continued out of the bow and around her chest, where they laced into the sides of her dress. They appeared to be holding the front and back pieces of her coral pink dress together. A gentle tug on those bows...

Galilea held the package up to her ear, then gave me a questioning look. ''Go ahead,'' I said. ''It's packed pretty tightly, and the clerk said it's pretty rugged.''

She shook it gently, then smiled. ''I believe I'll wait until after dinner. Sweets and prezzies go well together.''

She grabbed a pale green silk shawl and wrapped it around herself. Two silver chains hung from Galilea's pale shoulders. On one she wore her silver and jade Slytherin pendant. The end of the other disappeared into her cleavage. She reached to her cleavage and pulled on the long chain, pulling out her wand. She quickly unscrewed the wand's tip from the chain's pendant.

''Um...''

''Oh yes, once you get past the back pain they're very practical. I'm also carrying some Muggle cash and a small flask of gilly brandywine.''

''Right. Okay.'' I held my left arm out for her. Galilea wrapped her arm around mine and we Disapparated from her quarters.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

The dark pressure released us and we Apparated into the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. It was already dark this time of year, but I could still make out the scarlet and gold brickwork behind Neville's plants.

''I'm so glad they cleaned this place up,'' said Galilea, putting away her wand. ''Before Hannah took over it had become quite run-down. Long past the point of comfortably shabby. Almost as bad as the Hog's Head.''

''I like the Hog's Head,'' I protested, leading Galilea towards the door.

''Yes, and I also hear that you drink Old Aardvark firewhisky for the taste. Rubeus tells me he uses that stuff to strip rust from old metal.''

I shrugged. ''It's better than what I drank as a grad student.''

On a Saturday night the Cauldron was full of warmth and noise. The booths to our right were full, and on our left the regulars were at their stations along the bar. Hannah Longbottom worked in the middle the crowd, chatting with customers and keeping an eye on things. She saw us and came over, smiling as though she hadn't been on her feet all day and we weren't the who-knows-how-many-dozenth customers she'd greeted.

''Galilea, you look lovely. Has Geoffrey remembered to mention that yet?''

''I did.''

''Not precisely,'' said Galilea. ''But he did have a nicely stunned expression when he learned about wand pendants.''

Hannah gave me a look. ''They're more common than you'd think,'' she said. ''But they're really only practical if you have a short wand.''

''It's not the length that matters,'' said Galilea. ''It's the motion.''

'''Said the witch to the bishop','' Neville said as he came up to us. He carried a stack of folded bar-linens under one arm. ''Headmistress, Geoffrey. Ready for a nice evening, I see.''

''Not quite,'' I said. ''I hear the Cauldron has a public phone. I need to call a cab.''

''You cancelled the car rental?'' Asked Galilea.

''Yeah. I drove once in downtown London and hated it. I decided I didn't want to start the evening in a bad mood. It'll just be a lot more pleasant if we take a cab. Plus if there's someone else in the car with me, well...''

''You get distracted?''

''Little bit, yeah. Especially if they look as good as you.''

''That's better,'' said Hannah. ''Phone's up by the front door. Have a lovely evening, you two.'' She slipped back into the crowd. Neville watched her go.

''So Neville,'' I said. ''About Jezebel Rosier, do you have any idea - ''

Galilea held up a hand. ''One moment please Geoffrey. Neville, have you spoken with your friend Ron about this?''

''Oh yes, first thing after Geoffrey got back from meeting Jezebel.''

''Mm-hm. And Geoffrey, you've also spoken to Professor Fairbairn?''

''Well yes, but - ''

''_And_ we had that meeting earlier.''

''Well yes - ''

''I believe we've all had enough of this for today. The matter is now in the hands of the Aurors.''

''The lady makes a good point,'' Neville said. ''Ron might be over-protective of Rose and a bit too willing to throw his weight around, but he does know his work. Go.''

We made our way to the front of the Cauldron, Galilea greeting a few witches as we passed through the crowd. Inside the pub's narrow entrance I found the phone, a modern push-button thing hooked to the wall.

''That's disappointing,'' I said. ''I wanted to see what your lot would do with a phone.''

''Do you have a mobile? I've only seen pictures.''

I pulled my cell phone - Mobile, as the English call it - out of my inside pocket and handed it to Galilea. ''Just don't make any calls. I haven't had a chance to change my carrier yet. We might as well just go outside and see if we can hail a cab.''

Galilea distractedly followed me through to the street. She played with my mobile as we went, only looking up to be sure she didn't walk into anyone. ''This is exciting,'' she said, poking at the screen. ''All these little pictures really do transfigure into things. They're a bit like tiny portraits.''

''Icons. We call the little pictures icons.'' I spotted a cab approaching and pushed my way through the Muggles to the curb. Galilea trailed behind me. I waved the cab down. ''The icons let you open apps.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Seatbelt please, Miss.''

Galilea looked up, surprised. ''Oh yes. Of course.'' She handed my phone back to me and fumbled with her belt as we pulled away from the curb. While she tried to work out the buckle I gave the cabby the address.

''Ta, Miss. Dat addy, is dat de _Gran_ _Comprobar_?'' You would have needed a very sharp knife to cut the driver's accent.

I gave the mobile back to Galilea. ''Yeah. Is it a popular place then?''

The driver chuckled. ''Where's yer accent, mate?''

I cleared my throat. ''Somewhere over the mid-Atlantic,'' I told her. ''It always slips after I've been here for a while.''

''Yis, yer not de fairst I've 'eard.'' She leaned hard on the horn. ''Bit son o' Anytime Annie! Side de way, yous bastard!''

Damn it, the plan was to show Galilea a nice _quiet_ evening.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Your former lady friend is very pretty.'' Galilea handed the phone back to me after I finished paying the cabby. I went cheap on the tip. I was certain the woman had _aimed_ for that old man in the crosswalk.

''My - Oh Christ, I should have deleted those pictures months ago.'' I blushed a bit. Those were not the kind of pictures you wanted anyone else to see. I gave Galilea my arm and we took our place in the short line by the door. We were a bit early for our reservations, but there didn't seem to be a lot of people ahead of us. I noticed a sign saying _Under_ _New_ _Management_ and _New_ _Menu_, which struck me as odd given that the place was maybe a month old.

''I didn't see anything too revealing, if that's what worries you.''

''No, it's just courtesy.'' We weren't too close to the couple ahead of us, and they weren't paying us any attention. ''It's really easy to copy and share Muggle images or video. Some guys turn into real assholes after a break-up, you know?''

''Ah, yes. I think I see the problem. Can you not erase your portraits?''

The line moved forward a bit. I kept half an eye on a trio of scruffy looking guys a few doors up from the restaurant. ''You can erase files on your own devices, but if someone has copied a file to their mobile or computer it's completely out of your control.''

''Your ex must have trusted - '' Galilea jumped a bit, putting her hand to her chest. Two of the three men swung into motion. One of them took the third guy down in one fluid motion while the other pulled a pair of cuffs out from his dirty denim jacket.

If you didn't know where she kept her wand, Galilea's gesture might have just looked like shock. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. ''Cops. Like Hit-Wizards. This is probably a drug bust.''

A _quiet_ evening. Is that too much to ask for, London?

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

The restaurant was narrow, and dark, and there were candles on the tables. While we waited to be seated Galilea leaned in close to me. ''Will you be all right with the candles, Geoffrey?''

''Sure. Hundreds of the damn things floating above my head? That's a problem. One or two candles on the table? Not so much.''

The place had about twice as many tables as I'd seen in the pictures on their website. The tables were packed, and there were more customers waiting by the bar. A young witch - No, young woman - in a short black skirt came up to greet us. ''D'you have reservations?''

I gave her my name. She glanced at the reservations screen. ''I have a seat by the kitchen, or you can wait by the bar.''

I bit back on '_I_ _reserved_ _a_ _front_ _seat_ _days_ _ago_' and '_Do_ _you_ _not_ _know_ _how_ _reservations_ _work?_' and glanced at Galilea. She was studying the little tablet the girl used to track reservations. ''Let's see the table,'' I said. ''Then we'll decide.''

''This way.'' She grabbed a couple of menus and started down the narrow aisle.

_Please_. God, for what this place cost you think they could afford some courtesy. Galilea didn't seem to mind. I noticed her studying the other customers, looking at their clothes.

Just past the last booth there was a short corridor leading to the kitchen. Backed up against that last booth was a tiny area with a table, divided from the corridor by a half-wall. Voices and cooking noises came through the kitchen door. Given that our other option was to sit at the bar, and that I didn't want to look too grouchy in front of my date, I decided to take it. The hostess lit the candle on the table and left.

Galilea sat first, and then I sat with by back to the booth near the little gap by the divider wall. There wasn't enough room for me to have offered to slide Galilea's seat out. The candle was at exactly the right height to block our view of each other. I reached to move it aside but the tiny flame flickered out.

They'd cheaped out on the candles. That did not bode well for the food.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Geoffrey?'' Her voice sounded a bit strained.

''Yes?''

''The exchange rate is still five to one, yes?''

''Yeah, but Muggle food costs more than Wizarding food. The storage and handling costs are a lot higher.''

''Oh. So this is... Usual?''

''Sort of. This place is at the high end for a London restaurant.''

''Oh. My.''

Yeah.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''I came to Hogwarts just after Riddle and his thugs demolished the school. I was with the reconstruction team. Hogwarts needed skilled mentalists to restore the portraits, or to determine which had been damaged beyond restoration. Which was more than half of them, sadly. Charles Theobrosan came with me from the Department of Mysteries. Ghosts are his area of expertise.''

''Is that why he gets to keep stomping out the Riddle fragments when they pop up?''

Galilea sighed. ''Yes. Poor Tom Riddle is the most _persistent_ ghost I've had the pleasure of encountering. I've never before heard of ghosts that could survive the Hallowlight Charm. It's just as well his personality is too damaged to be a threat to anyone.''

The Riddle fragments couldn't do much more than hiss at people. But they were flayed and broken things, with parts missing. The skinless husks seemed to be in constant pain, and constant rage, and they frightened children.

Galilea sloshed her wine around in her glass. ''I'd known of Minerva McGonagall by reputation, of course. We'd tried several times to recruit her for our Department. She is an extraordinary Transfigurist, certainly the top in her field. And a wonderful teacher. Before I'd met her I had struggled for nearly a decade and a half with the Animagi transformations. Under her tutelage I became an Animagus within a year.''

''A what?''

''An Animagus. Shapeshifter, or skinwalker, if you want the colloquial terms.''

''Oh, like a Metamagus?''

''Metamorphmagus. Not quite. An Animagus is limited to one form only, in my case - ''

''_Llwyd_ _blaidd_?'' I guessed.

''Yes. How on Earth did you know?''

I shrugged. ''Idris is Welsh. I asked him what the password meant. And when you started talking about being a skinwalker... Well, it's obvious.''

''How...'' I would describe the look Galilea gave me as 'exasperated'. ''How do you manage to be so quick yet so... Inattentive at the same time?''

''Beats me. If you figure it out there's a T'ai Chi master who would like the answer.''

''Well. I'd worked on reconstruction for a few months, when Minerva approached me with a sticky problem regarding warding the intentional aspects of approach into the quintessential volume of Hogwarts' fractional oh dear there's that look again. I'm sorry, you've adjusted so well so quickly that I forget how little background you actually have with magic.''

''How much of that would have flown over the head of the average Seventh Year with a couple of NEWTS?''

''About two-thirds. Let's just say that Minerva and I worked on the new wards for Hogwarts - Oh, speaking of which, and I can't emphasize this enough, if you ever decide to get clever with the Floo Network at Hogwarts - ''

I shuddered.

''Yes, well on the off chance that you do so decide, _don't_. The Floo Wards were designed by Neville, and he was the top man in the Aurors Office when it came to the Floo Network. Even Professor Fairbairn is frightened of what Neville has set up.''

Galilea paused. ''Where in the world was I going with this? Oh yes, after I'd worked with Minerva a bit, she offered me the post of Charms Professor.'' She tapped the thin silver chain that led down to her cleavage. ''Spruce heartwood, six inches, with a unicorn hair core. I'm quite good with Charms.''

Galilea settled back in her seat. ''Professor Flitwick retired as Deputy Headmaster in 2004. Minerva offered Professor Sinistra the post out of respect for her seniority, but Aurora had no interest in all that paperwork. The Board hemmed and hawed over my appointment for a year, worrying about my relative lack of experience at Hogwarts. But they gave in eventually, and Minerva started thinking about retirement a bit later. When she finally retired in 2013 the Board attempted to over-rule Minerva's decision and offered Neville the position of Headmaster, politics you know, but he told them where to go with that. Some days I think he had the right idea, particularly those days when my office is full of crying children.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Ordinary? I think you look quite handsome. Dashing.''

I scoffed. ''Close your eyes. Good. Now, without opening them, describe me.''

I saw her eyes flutter under their lids as she thought. ''You have brown hair, a bit longish, a small goatee with a bit of ginger in it... Mm, you're five foot eleven, and I'd say eleven stone.''

''I'm five foot nine, but thanks.'' She was a little low on the weight, but I have surprisingly high bone density. I don't look 162 pounds. ''And what else?''

''Well...'' She smiled a bit crookedly under her closed eyes. ''You have excellent taste in clothes, and look good in brown and green. They go well with your eyes.''

She opened her eyes and looked right into mine. ''But Geoffrey, you carry yourself well.''

She looked around our little table, half-hidden behind the booth and workspace. Reaching into her cleavage Galilea pulled out her wand and unscrewed it from the silver chain. She took one last look to be sure we were alone. ''Warn me if anyone approaches.''

I watched her while keeping an eye out for the staff. No one came by. Galilea held the silver tip of her wand to the bridge of her nose. The wand-tip glimmered, and the glimmer spread like spider webs casting themselves over her face. The webs drew themselves together, taking on the look of a mask over her eyes and cheeks. The shape of the eyes and nose had a canine cast to them, like a wolfish carnival mask.

Galilea took the mask down from her face and looked over her shoulder. ''Lean forward, please. There's something I'd like you to see.''

Galilea held the mask to my face. That close, under that silver light of the mask, I could see a fine green filigree worked into the pale wood. Green leaves and white berries. Mistletoe.

And I saw

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

myself.

Not many people like the way their own voice sounds in a recording. We hear ourselves through bone, through the vibrations in our skull, and that carries more depth than the air that other people hear us through.

Seeing yourself through another's perceptions is like hearing yourself through a different medium. Different, in ways you don't expect. But seeing yourself through the eyes of the other sex is far more flattering than you'd expect.

It's odd. Other people judge us far less harshly than we judge ourselves.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Yes, I saw where you were looking. And to tell the truth, I hadn't realized quite how generous the view is in that top. I thought it covered a bit more.''

''I noticed you haven't worn it in a few days.''

''And never while there are students at Hogwarts. But I also noticed something else while I was prying in your mind. And to be honest...'' She smiled a bit, and looked slightly embarrassed. ''I don't normally flirt so outrageously, but I so rarely meet men who think 'lethal bitch' is a compliment.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''My grandmother Moira Puttock wrote down the stories her parents, Lyra and Lucas Wyvern and oh Hell 'Wyvern', I really am an idiot. That First Year and I must be related, it's not like Wyvern is a common name. Somehow I've got to track down just how many of my mother's ancestors were squibs. It's starting to sound like there was a whole community of them out by St. Mary's. Anyway, Nana Puttock wrote down the stories her parents told her. My favourite was the story about the three brothers and the door to death's land. Do you know that one?''

''Mm.'' Galilea sipped her wine, looking thoughtful. ''During my career as an Unspeakable - That's the nickname for the employees at the Department of Ministry. During my career as an Unspeakable, I saw a great many truths that are presumed to be myths. Except for one or two details, the tale of the Brothers Three and the Door to Death's Land is... Closer to truth than most people would be comfortable knowing. Please don't ask me for those details.''

I thought about that for a moment. I'd sworn oaths, signed confidentiality forms, and assumed various professional obligations over the years. I knew a lot of stuff I couldn't discuss, even if little of it was really interesting and even less was important. But I thought of _A_ _History_ _Of_ _Magic_ and Bagshot's _Hogwarts_, _A_ _History_, and some of the rumours and folkore they'd mentioned, and how that might fit with the stories I'd heard as a child. ''So Salazar didn't go back to the Fenlands after his death? He moved to just outside Westminster?''

Galilea looked thoughtful again. ''Yes, I may answer that. He did indeed. It's confirmed by the records of the old White Worm pub, where Salazar had quite the outstanding tab at the time of his death. If you know where to look, and have the mind to see it, there is a plaque on the site where he supposedly built his house. By amazing coincidence it is over the very oldest sections of the Department of Mysteries.''

''Huh. And the Peverell Brothers actually studied with Salazar Slytherin?''

''I may - What is that lovely Muggle phrase? I may neither confirm nor deny that the Peverell Brothers learned their art in the workshop of Salazar Slytherin. Nor may I confirm or deny the old myth that they encountered death in his home.''

There are ways around confidentiality agreements. I sipped thoughtfully on sour wine.

''Do you speak any Basque, Geoffrey?''

''Basque? No. French, Metis French, German, a few Michif phrases, and a bit of Australian. I can recognize some words in Latin, Greek, and Russian. That's about it.''

''Well, I'm not convinced that Salazar Slytherin spoke more than a few phrases in his supposed mother-tongue. Salazar is a Basque word, now found as a surname.''

''Antonio Salazar, dictator of Portugal for something like forty years.''

''Yes, I learned about him while researching Salazar's names. '_Slytherin_' is neither Basque nor Old English. Nor is it any sort of French, Latin, or Greek. But in its oldest forms, in the records of Hogwarts or the Wizengamot, it is recorded as Salazar _of_ Salazarina, or alternatively Salazurinhe or Salazurinye. In Basque the element '_Sala_' means hall, while '_Zurinye_' is a woman's name meaning white.''

I thought about that for a few seconds. Salazurinye to slazarine to _Slytherin_. ''He was probably born in England then, or just before his family left the Basque lands. Typical immigrant pattern, give the children a name that will remind them of the old country. My family wasn't all that different. And he or someone else probably named their home - Their hall - after a woman named Zurinye. Salazar of White... Oh.''

''Salazar of White Hall.'' Galilea smiled. ''And to think, people believe old Salazar vanished from history when he left Hogwarts.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I heard footsteps and glanced up. A dark-haired woman stood by the gap between the divider and the booth. She wore a dark cloak and I thought nothing of it until she reached under her cloak and pulled out a polished stick. And she pointed it at Galilea.


	14. Chapter 14

On a more serious note - The tabloids were taking secret pictures of J. K. Rowling's young daughter in a swimsuit and sneaking notes into her lunches. That's just creepy.

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

I came up out of the chair and put my shoulder into her solar plexus. With my shoulder and hand I guided her and with my legs I lifted until she hit the wall and I felt bone break. I stepped back and let her fall to the floor. As she fell I heard someone cry ''_Expulso!_'' and a great burning shock ran through me like a lightning charge. I fell, throwing a hand against the wall to stop myself, sliding down on to the fallen witch.

Galilea called ''_Iterum Sectumsempra!_'' and I saw a bright flash. A man screamed. ''_Protego Maxima!_'' called Galilea, and then ''_Totum_ _Muggletum Somno!_'' and I heard thuds. Strength returned to my legs and I stood, kicking the wand away from the gasping witch.

The kitchen doors burst open and a big wizard with a dark wand pushed through. He opened his mouth to yell and I stepped through Snake Creeps Down, coming up inside the reach of his wand arm. I took control of his arm and pushed his body against the divider wall, trapping him there.

''_Perspicacem__Stupefy!_'' and a flash of red hit the wizard and a wave of exhaustion passed through me. His face went slack and he slumped in my grip. A sharp cracking noise rang out and I let him fall, turning myself to the sound of someone Apparating in. I saw Galilea turn to the noise, wand ready.

Ron Weasley with wand in hand. ''Aurors!'' He yelled. ''Aurors! We're getting you two out of here!'' He grabbed Galilea's outstreched wand-arm by the wrist and held his other arm to me. I heard the cracking sounds of more Apparations. ''Grab my arm! Let's go!''

I felt a sudden wrench, as though someone had a hook through my belt-buckle and were pulling me backwards. And we were gone.


	15. Chapter 15

This world belongs to J. K. Rowling but I will inherit it when she dies. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

The door to the interrogation room opened and Ron Weasley came in, carrying a handful of papers. There were bags under his eyes and he looked nearly as tired as I felt. ''How many reports have you written in your time, mate?''

''After nearly three years as a university professor, four years as a grad student and TA, four years as a Logistics Officer, and three as a Reserve Officer? How many do you think?''

He laughed briefly. ''Too bloody many. But I won't complain, this is the easiest crime report I've ever had to read.'' He looked around the little room. There wasn't much to it, just old brick walls and a wooden table with a couple of chairs. ''Cafeteria's just down the hall. I'll buy you a cuppa for your nerves.''

The shakes had settled down and my hands were nearly steady. I didn't need caffeine on top of the adrenaline, but it would give me a chance to talk to Weasley. I pushed the chair back, scraping the legs on the stone floor. ''Sounds good, thanks.''

I followed him out of the room and 'just down the hall', which turned out to be down the hall, around two corners, up another hall, and past any number of wizards and witches in practical tough clothing.

''No,'' Ron Weasley answered my last question. ''Hit-Wizards and Aurors operate out of two different Offices. And joint operations are organized by a third, the Magical Law Enforcement Squad Office. And my wife runs the fourth in the Department, the Office of Magical Police Sciences.''

''The Weasels,'' I said. ''Or Granger's Rangers.''

As he lead me over to the cafeteria counter, Ron Weasley gave me a look. I shrugged. ''I have a shoebox full of news articles about the former DA leadership. And another one for the old Death Eaters.''

We grabbed our tea and Ron paid, dropping a few Knuts into a big tin. He led the way through the cafeteria, past rows of tables with people at them. The big cafeteria hall wasn't full, but there were a few dozen wizards and witches scattered at the tables. Ron waved and nodded at people as we went by. ''This looks quiet.''

We sat a few tables away from most of the crowd, where the noise was a bit lower. Ron pulled his wand out and set it on the table in front of him.

''Headmistress Grimward is still finishing her report. The Hit-Witch helping her calls it a bloody novel.''

''Galilea likes to be precise.''

Weasley sipped his tea and didn't comment. He put the cup down and scratched at his stubble. ''You didn't see the third attacker?''

I twitched a bit, sloshing the hot tea in my cup. Luckily I didn't spill it. ''No. There were three? I saw the witch I tackled, and then that wizard who came through the kitchen. But the Hit-Wizard who took my report says he was one of yours.''

''Yeah, and he went and charged into a room wand-first. I'll have a chat with him about that.''

I recognized the dangerous gleam in his eyes. Ron Weasley was one of nature's NCOs. That 'chat' would end with a strip torn off the other wizard's back.

''So there was the witch who tried to attack Galilea, and who else?''

''Her partner, the one your lady friend hit with a repeating Cutting Curse. Both of them, as you'd say, known to the police. Nothing like this before though. They're both in Azkaban's healers ward, so you don't need to worry about them.''

''And the third?''

''That's the one that tried to hit you with _Expulso_, and you really don't need to worry about him.''

''Why not? What's _Expulso_?''

''Right, right.'' Ron Weasley sipped his tea again. ''I just poured this not five minutes ago. How can it be cold already? D'they put Cooling Charms on it?''

''_Expulso_.''

''You owe my brother a drink,'' Weasley said. ''Expulso is a Blasting Charm. This one bounced back back on the caster.''

A _Blasting_ _Charm_? Someone had tried to _detonate_ me? And it ricocheted? ''He... Exploded?''

''No. A deflected or bent spell usually doesn't work. It still carries a lot of punch, but it won't usually do what it was meant to. Losses intent, y'know. Most of the time it's like hitting something with a big sandbag. This time though, the spell raised the wizard's body temperature.''

That didn't sound healthy. ''How much?''

''About a hundred degrees, I'm told.''

That really didn't sound healthy. A reflected _Expulso_ still had enough power to cook a man? ''I owe your brother a drink.''

I leaned back and drank some tea. Weasley had been right, it had gone cold quickly. ''There's something I didn't put in the report.''

I leaned forward on the table. I really was having trouble sitting still. ''When you came by the school, Galilea and I both assumed you meant Jezebel Rosier. She'd sent me an owl the morning after the formal.''

Weasley's expression went from blank to surprised. ''Her? She's one of Draco Malfoy's Vitalists. They want people like you in the Wizarding World.''

''Yeah, I found that out when she tried to recruit me to run classes at the Oakby Centre.'' Vitalists. One more thing to look up. Gah.

''One track mind, that girl. She's tried to recruit my wife too, but Hermione's got too much on her plate now.''

''I told her that as soon as I knew what my schedule would be like at Hogwarts, I'd give the Centre a few hours of my time. God only knows when that will be.''

''I know the feeling. So, your report?''

''The other woman I sat next to at dinner, the one I'd forgotten about because she didn't send me a letter? She turned up at Ollivanders while I was there for my interview.''

''That sounds familiar. Did Skeeter mention it in her article?''

I nodded. ''It was right in the part where I talked about putting my foot in my mouth at dinner. I said I hoped I'd make a better impression with the Ollivanders when I spoke to them.''

''Hm.'' Weasley waved his wand at his tea cup. The tea started to steam. He pointed his wand at my tea and gave me an inquisitive look.

''No. Any more caffeine and I'll get the shakes again.'' While he finished his tea I went on. ''Anyway, Cornfoot - I can't remember her first name. Cornfoot turned up in Ollivanders claiming she had damaged her wand. But Ward Ollivander said she'd barely nicked it. He didn't even charge her for repairs.''

''Did you speak with her at all while she was there?''

''She asked why I was in looking at wands.''

Ron Weasley struggled to control his shocked expression. ''Were you?''

I rolled my eyes. ''Are all you Purebloods this jumpy about Muggles? Yeah, I was. Ward and Glinda wanted to try. Didn't work though.''

Relief and embarrassment struggled for control of Weasley's face. Finally he managed to smooth out his expression. ''Anything else?''

''Yeah, I asked her and Glinda for advice on what to get Galilea. And we talked about restaurants. I even mentioned the name of the place we were going.''

He nodded. ''Well, that's good to know. Thanks, mate.'' Weasley sighed. ''You know how bad this must look? From the point of view of nutters like The One Hundred, I mean.''

''I've thought about it a couple of times. I blow past the wards at the Dufftown railway station - Hey, why do you guys have a train out of Dufftown anyway? I know the Ministry applies the Trace at King's Cross, but Dufftown?''

''There are size limits on Apparation and the Floo Network. Portkeys too.''

''Ah, okay. Shipping. Anyway, I blow past the Anti-Muggle Charms at Dufftown, wander around Hogsmeade scaring the good citizens, and the next thing you know I'm teaching Pureblood kids about Muggle society, going to formal dinners at the Ministry, and sitting in Ollivanders trying out wands. If you believe magic can be stolen, I must look like a looter.''

''That's about the long and short of - Hang on.'' Ron Weasley looked past me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a tiny flicker of purple light heading our way. A Messaging Charm. Weasley held out his wand and let the flicker settle on the tip of it. The light reformed itself into a brief written message.

''In the cafeteria, Harry.'' The letters collapsed back to a purple glow and flew away.

''You've got better range than the kids at Hogwarts,'' I said.

''I should hope so. Well, my boss and yours will be here soon enough. I should tell you, Harry's put me in charge of your security. For the most part that means I'll be working through the Squad Office to keep you under surveillance. Keep up your meetings with Neville and Ewart, but if you see anything out of place Floo my office. Or in your case, get someone else to Floo me as soon as possible.''

''Right. So, you being assigned to my security. Does that have anything to do with your informal visit a few days ago?''

He had the grace to look embarrassed. ''Yeah, yeah. Harry said if I were so eager to take on extra work, I might as well have it. Here they come.''

Galilea and a bland-looking wizard were making their way through the cafeteria. I got up and met them halfway. Galilea's eyes were red and her pale face had a grayish cast to it, and as I hugged her she trembled slightly. She squeezed me hard.

''I'm okay,'' I told her. ''You did good work. You took out most of that room.'' We stayed like that for a while, until Galilea stopped trembling. I'd had a bad case of the shakes earlier, but I had nearly a decade of drills to get used to stress and adrenaline. Galilea was a pure academic. And the last time anyone had attacked Galilea they'd hospitalized her and killed her family.

''You throw up much?'' I asked.

She leaned back a bit. ''Pardon?''

''From the shakes. Lots of people throw up or cry after a serious fight.''

''Are you trying to make me feel better?''

''Well yeah.''

She hugged me again and I hugged back. Being that close and seeing her safe helped dull the last of my edginess. Finally we broke the huddle, each keeping a hand on the other, and turned to face Ron Weasley and his boss.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Master of Death, Slayer of the Dark Lord.

''Hello,'' he said politely. He held out his hand and I shook it. He had a light grip, and the expression on his face was blandly friendly. Brown hair with shaggy bangs, green eyes behind round glasses, a week's worth of an attempt to grow a beard. The man who'd defeated Tom Riddle, robbed Gringotts, and killed a basilisk looked like a Nice Guy and I didn't believe it for a second.

''Mr Potter,'' I said. ''It's easy to see which side of the family Albus takes after.''

That nice smile grew a bit wider. ''Professor Hunter, are you trying to deflect my attention?'' He said in a perfectly cheerful voice.

''If you think I want to talk about that restaurant again, you're mental.''

The smile never wavered. ''I've heard you can be a bit testy at times. Don't worry, I won't keep you. I've your report, the Headmistress' report, the reports from the team in the restaurant, and a report from the Obliviators who went in when it was all over. Some people might agree that I'm mental, but I don't need to hear more about the restaurant.''

I'd just been smacked down and I'd deserved it. ''Right, sorry. For what it's worth, your man in the kitchen responded pretty quickly.''

''And got himself a ticket to St. Mungo's with a back injury,'' said Potter. ''Ron, have a friendly talk with Greengrass about the proper way to enter a room. And set up refresher courses for the rest of the team.''

''Right, Harry.''

Galilea squeezed my waist. ''Mr. Potter, it has been a very long evening and Professor Hunter and I both have a great deal to do tomorrow. If there are no further questions...''

''Of course, Headmistress. Do you feel up to Apparating, or would you prefer to Floo home?''

''We'll Apparate, thank you. Believe me, I am very determined on our destination.''

That brought short chuckles from both wizards. I didn't even bother trying to memorize that in-joke. We said our goodbyes, the Aurors gave us the not-so-subtle reminder that they knew where to find us if they needed to, and Galilea Apparated us home.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I awoke sometime in the late dark. Groggy, I listened to the sounds of an unfamiliar room as I tried to find what had woken me. Eventually I realised that my left arm hurt.

Galilea was short, but those dangerous curves had some weight to them. I worked my left arm out from underneath, trying not to wake her.

Odd thoughts come to you in odd hours. Listening to Galilea breath, smelling the traces of her perfume and sweat, I thought of her appearance. She'd been raised in Hogsmeade, but taken on a London accent. She'd grown up wearing Wizarding robes and cloaks, but now wore Muggle trousers and tops.

'The personal is political' is a totalitarian attitude, and like most things totalitarian gets it totally backwards. The political reflects the personal, always.

Galilea had personal reasons behind her reform agenda. It didn't take much to figure out what faction she wanted revenge on.


	16. Chapter 16

Joanne Rowling has no middle name. The _K._ stands for the _K_nife she'll take to you if you violate her copyright.

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

''I forgot to ask Ron or Potter about - ''

''Geoffrey.''

I knew that exasperated tone of voice. It was that voice women reserve for men about to do something they think is stupid.

''Yes?'' I sniffed my shirt. ''Is this shirt okay for a quick trip to my quarters?''

''_Tergeo_. Is that better?''

''Much, thanks.'' I pulled my shirt on. Galilea watched me from her bed, blankets still wrapped tight around her. She didn't need to put in an appearance in the Great Hall just yet, but I was on supervisory duty that day.

''Geoffrey, how long have you been at Hogwarts?''

''Um...'' I did some quick math. ''Nine, ten days. Something like that. Why?''

Galilea sat up. Even wrapped in blankets she was a distraction and a half. ''In less than a fortnight you've immigrated to a new country, discovered magic, started with a new employer, attended a formal dinner, experienced a phobic attack, arranged interviews with multiple people, written a new class syllabus, _and_ survived an assassination attempt.''

I stopped in the middle of buckling my belt. ''Yeah. I guess...'' I'd been going to say 'It's been a busy week', but really... ''It's been a pretty crazy week.''

''Muggles.'' Galilea sighed. ''Not everything has to be done _now_. Geoffrey, I truly admire your energy, but for your own sake please slow down.''

''Yeah, all right, good idea.'' I looked around Galilea's big round room. ''Have you seen my boots?''

''Have you checked under my shawl?''

''No - Oh, good.'' I hung the shawl a little more neatly on the back of a leather chair. ''Okay. I'll take today easy. I just need to update my research notes - ''

''Neville refers to it as your 'wall of crazy'.''

''It's just a little bulletin board.''

''It's a five foot by five foot bulletin board covered with news clippings, personal notes in different colours, pins in different colours and sizes, and three colours of string connecting it all together. To say nothing of the shoe boxes and notebook you've filled over the past week.''

''Well yeah, I need to keep - ''

''_And_,'' Galilea said. ''The collection of textbooks you've filled with notes and scribbles.''

''Uh. When you put it that way...''

''On top of it all,'' she went on. ''Rubeus informs me that the regulars at the Hog's Head are scared of you.''

''What?''

''I don't know how it is in your world, but in the Wizarding World people like you usually result in lurid headlines splashed across the front page.''

''Excuse me?''

''Oh yes. It's always a Slytherin or Ravenclaw. The one who likes to sit quietly in the corner, not speaking to anyone, muttering 'fools' under his breath and chuckling to himself as he make notes in magical textbooks... It all ends in maniacal laughter and horrible new Dark Curses.''

''Riiiight...'' I sat on the arm of an overstuffed leather chair. ''Okay, point made. I promise not to invent any new Curses, horrid, Dark, or otherwise - ''

''And not to conduct any experiments on living subjects.''

''I can't promise that. I'm a social scientist. In my field, there's no point to science if no one gets hurt.''

''Hm, a bit like the Dark Arts then. Best speak to Professor Lestrange, she's the Chair of those studies.''

''Not Professor Fairbairn?''

''No, no. By Hogwarts statute the Defence instructor is never allowed to be Chair of Dark Arts. There's far too much turnover in either post as it is. The previous Chair was eaten by Things.''

''Uh...'' I will not ask. I will not ask. I will not ask. ''I promise to take it easy today. And over the next couple of days, outside of class.''

''Thank you. And I will send Professor Burke a note, asking her to supervise the students today.''

''But I'm - ''

''Resting. You're gray as a ghost. Go have breakfast, and take the rest of the day off. You can meet your students tomorrow.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

After breakfast I went back to my quarters intending to organize my notes. I sat down for just a few minutes and didn't wake up until Galilea knocked on my door two hours later.

Maybe she had a point.


	17. Chapter 17

swift recommended irish babies but the truth is the english are the tastiest meat. i've prepared this morsel with the freshest scrappings from the brain of a gloucestershirewoman.

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

The Muggle Studies classroom took up a lot of the fifth floor East Wing, but that was because it functioned in part as a museum. At the front of the room I had a desk and two blackboards. On one side wall there were shelves for displays. Along the other there were windows with a fine view of the traditional Scottish winter scenery, ice mist. On the back wall, taped up around the classroom door, there were film posters. The most recent poster was for the first X-Men film. In between all that...

My classroom looked a bit like a hoarder's bedroom. A side table near the front of the room held two microwave ovens, a toaster, three clock radios, and a cellphone recharger, among all the clutter. The shelves along the inside wall were covered with common household appliances stocked next to old magazines and, for some reason, hats. There was also a printer, a vacuum cleaner, an espresso machine, a big can of Ovaltine, and a clunky 1980's-era answering machine with an actual tape it in. At the front of the room, next to my newspaper-covered desk, stood a grey contraption that I couldn't figure out. It was obviously some piece of early electronics, with two big spools on the front to run magnetic tape through, but it was the size of a bedside table and the back opened up to show vacuum tubes.

''Th' Brounies did braw wark,'' said Sister Shibley. ''There's nigh enaw fluir fur th' desks noo.''

I'd asked the House-Elves to haul away the real junk. ''I'm amazed they could move the printing press,'' I said. ''But all the stories I've heard said House-Elves - Brownies - were hard workers.''

''Did ye nae hae them in yer homelain?''

''Not that I've ever heard of, but I could be wrong.'' I looked around the room again. It was huge, but still had room for less than forty student desks. But I couldn't get rid of any more junk. The Board of Governors viewed it all as Valuable Teaching Aids. Not that they would dampen the Anti-Current or Anti-Circuit Charms and let me have electricity to run any of it.

I heard voices outside the door. I moved quickly to take my place behind the desk before my students came in. ''Thank you for your help, Sister.''

''_Se_ _do_ _bheatha_, Professor.'' I didn't know a lot of Gaelic, but I knew by now that 'sheh doe VEH-huh' meant 'you're welcome'. Shibley took one of the desks near the back of the room, as I'd asked her earlier. It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes at your back.

The noise grew, but the door stayed closed. I waited past the bells, but no one came in.

''Sister, could you...''

''Aye.'' Sister Shibley left her desk and poked her head through the door. She came back quickly. ''Th' stoatin wee ninnies ur aw... Millin' abit, Professur.''

I sighed. ''Thank you, Sister. Take your seat, I'll deal with this.''

I walked to the back of the classroom and opened the door, mentally kicking myself for leaving it closed in the first place. There in the hall, milling about in the Sister's words, were my First Years.

''Boo,'' I said. One of the girls closest to the door actually jumped a bit. A mob of eleven year olds looked up at me with big nervous eyes.

''Hello. Come in please.'' I pointed to a couple of kids and waved them through the door. ''You two first, someone has to be first. Okay, now you...''

Once I had the herd moving they went through on their own, staring at me as they passed. What stood out to me was the _whiteness_ of the group, and how many pale blondes and redheads there were. The Pureblood families had been through a couple of severe population bottlenecks and didn't have much by way of genetic diversity. Which is the polite way of saying that Purebloods are the most inbred bunch of hillbillies I'd ever seen.

Once they were all through I went back to the front of the room, leaving the door open this time. Purebloods taught their kids that Muggles stole children and hunted witches, both of which were true under certain circumstances. I thought an open door might make my students less nervous.

Finally they all found seats, clustering together towards the back and middle of the room, leaving the front row of desks empty. ''Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Muggle Studies for First Years. I am Professor Geoffrey Hunter and yes, I am a Muggle. Sort of.''

Five rows of quiet children stared at me. Yes, well. ''I'm going to do a quick roll call, so I know who all of you are. After that, I'll explain what this class is about and what I hope to teach you.''

I ran through the list of names. Some of them were familiar to me from my reading, others I'd only heard at Sorting. Still others...

''NicMaeldun, Shibley.''

...

''Shibley NicMaeldun?''

''Aye...''

Well, I'd find out later if I'd done the right thing. I ran through the rest of the list, coming to the last of my students...

''Wyvern, Alice.''

''Here.''

''We're cousins, Ms. Wyvern. My great-grandfather Lucas was a Wyvern. His wife Lyra was originally a Black.''

The dark-eyed pale-skinned girl did not look impressed. Oh well. She was the last on the list, and every student was present.

''To begin with, I'll tell you what we won't be studying. We won't be studying how to use a blender or television set, or turn on lights. Most of this stuff is really easy to figure out on your own, and more complicated Muggle devices all have instruction manuals. We will do field trips through the year, and if there's a specific Muggle device you're really interested in, ask me after class and I'll arrange a demonstration for you.

''What we _will_ be studying in this room is how Muggles live, how they arrange their day to day lives, and how they think about things. I'm sure you've all noticed there's only one book on the First Year required reading list?''

Fifteen pairs of eyes stared at me.

''_Victorian_ _House_ by Judith Flanders is one of the best simple descriptions of how people lived in Victorian Britain. She's wrong in many of her conclusions regarding Victorian morality and social attitudes, particularly with regard to gender and class relations - '' Eleven year olds. Don't get too deep. ''But that's not important. It's easy to read and has a lot of information. Things have changed a bit since Queen Victoria's days, but not as much as you might think. I can bring you up to speed on current events in classroom discussions.''

I swear I heard crickets.

''You've got one book to read this year. It's dead easy. It doesn't bite and neither do I. Any questions?''

One of the pale blonde girls slowly raised her hand. ''Selena Spinks, right? What's your question, Ms. Spinks?''

''My father says Muggle money is stupid? Because it's made of paper?''

''Those aren't questions, Ms. Spinks. Those are statements. A question would be something like 'What does your father suggest Muggles use instead of paper?'.''

She stared at me for a few seconds. ''Sir?''

''What should Muggles use instead of paper, Ms. Spinks? And remember that Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts are made out of goblin metals but have very simple designs. They're only difficult to forge because they're magic. The actual physical coins would be easy to forge if they were just ordinary gold or silver. If you'd like I can show you where to buy the equipment.'' In fact a group of students had once physically duplicated goblin coins with simple Charms. They wouldn't have passed any of the detection magics Wizarding merchants used, but they were good enough for Potter's 'Dumbledore's Army' to pass messages undetected.

The girl seemed to think about that. ''But Muggle money should be simple to counterfeit. It's only paper.''

''I'll bring some Muggle money to class tomorrow. You can see how they prevent counterfeiting of paper money. I'll also bring some Muggle coins, which are a lot more complicated than the goblin versions.''

That seemed to get them interested. At least they were moving a bit, trading glances and whispers with one another instead of just staring at me. ''Does that tell you what you wanted to know, Ms. Spinks?''

''Yes sir.'' Judging by the sour look on her face it really hadn't been what she wanted to hear. Oh well.

''Any other questions?''

A dozen hands went up. With the floodgates opened I spent the next half-hour answering questions about Muggle life.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Muggles rarely steal children, Mr. Lestrange. Kidnapping is a crime for them, just like it is for you. Besides, there are over seven billion Muggles in the world. What would they want with more kids?''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''What Americans and Canadians call 'football' is similar to what the British game of rugby, but has heavier protective equipment. It's not as popular as hockey in Canada or baseball in the US.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Hockey, not hoggy, Ms. Greengrass. It's like curling - '' Muggle and Wizarding curling were identical, probably because curling is nature's perfect sport. What other ice sport involves forty-pound stones and can be played with a drink in one hand? ''But there's only one stone, called the puck, and both teams are on the ice fighting for control of the puck at the same time.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''No Mr. Selwyn, Muggles do not eat witches.'' Well, not without buying them dinner first.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Finally the questions ran out. About halfway through the class I managed to get things more or less back on topic. I stood at one of the blackboards, drawing a picture as the students told me about the typical floorplan of a Hogsmeade Wizarding home.

From what they said a Wizarding kitchen was about half the size of a Muggle kitchen. Just as I was adding that to the floorplan I heard someone mutter ''_Salivespertilum!_'' and a shock ran through me like a static charge. I spun around into a low defensive posture, ready to block or punch.

The kids sat frozen in their seats, some staring at me. Others stared at a boy towards the front of the class, two rows back. His eyes were starting to water in his pale face.

''You!'' I pointed. He jumped in his seat. What the heck was his name? ''Mr. Taylor, _why_ _is_ _your_ _hair_ _smouldering?_''

''I-I'm sorry s-s-sir.''

I remembered my posture and came up out of the defensive crouch, stepping closer to the front row. I took a closer look at Harry Taylor. As scary as it was to see his hair smoking, I couldn't actually see any sparks or flames. And it did just look like a small patch. Still, he'd managed to piss me off. ''Did I _ask_ you if you were sorry, Mr. Taylor?''

''N-no sir.''

''_What_ did I ask you, Mr. Taylor?''

''Why my h-h-hair is smoking, sir.''

Credit for bravery. If it had been my hair, I'd be bawling. ''And have you answered, Mr. Taylor?''

''No sir. It's b-because I t-tried to H-h-hex you, sir. I'm sorry sir.''

''Thank you for answering my question, Mr. Taylor. Because you answered my question, I am only going to dock Hufflepuff twenty-five points, instead of the usual fifty for attempting to Hex a Professor. Now, put out your hair.''

''S-sir?''

''I assume you know a basic Extinguishing Charm, Mr. Taylor.'' Was there such a thing as an Extinguishing Charm? In any case, the boy just shook his head. ''No? Does anyone here know a spell to help Mr. - Ah, yes, Ms. Wyvern. Go ahead.''

''_Aqua_ _Eructo!_''

''_AAAAAAH!_''

Oh God. ''Yes. Well done, Ms. Wyvern. Fifteen points to Ravenclaw for helping.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

All in all, the first class went better than I expected. With the end-of-class bell still echoing in the hallway my students slowly poured out of the room. A few stayed behind, clustering at the front of the class around Selena Spinks.

Currently the only way to tell what House a student was in was by the House badge on their robes. Galilea wanted to bring the uniforms more in line with modern clothing and introduce House ties, but the Board had dug in its heels on that. Selena Spinks was in Slytherin, as were two of her friends. The third was a Ravenclaw girl. Sister Shibley hovered behind the group, watching.

I sat on the edge of my desk. ''So, how can I help you?''

Selena Spinks had long golden-blonde hair, pale blue eyes in a narrow and very English face, and a glare that suggested she'd caught me doing something obscene. ''Asp says that you said you're in Slytherin House.''

''Sorry, who's 'Asp'?'' Hm, I probably shouldn't have mentioned that to Albus. Word seemed to have gotten around.

''Oh, uh, Albus Potter? Um, it's from his initials. His full name is Albus Severus Potter.''

''That's an interesting nickname. What does his older brother think of it?''

She looked around at her friends. ''I don't know. But that's - ''

''I wonder what his father thinks of it? Is young Mr. Potter a Parselmouth? Is that how he got the nickname?''

The girls looked absolutely shocked. After several generations of a bad rep, followed by the acts of the psychopath Tom Riddle and then his damaged fragments, asking if someone were a Parselmouth seemed to be like asking a fundamentalist Southern Baptist if they were a gay atheist.

''Asp - No - He's - '' Selena Spinks sputtered. ''Albus is not a Parselmouth! He's nice!''

''Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping someone could tell me what the Riddle ghost-fragments are saying.''

The Ravenclaw girl, Emily Brown, made a disgusted face. ''Eeew! Why would you want to know? They're horrid!''

I shrugged. ''I'm a historian, and Tom Riddle was a major figure in your history. Even if his fragments are damaged, they might know something interesting.''

''Oh.'' Emily Brown hugged herself and fell silent. I figured she was torn between fear and Ravenclaw desire. They weren't necessarily all smart, but they did all like to know things.

''Of course the Hat doesn't Sort adults. And if it did, it would be a major scandal for whatever House a Muggle were Sorted to.''

''But - ''

''All right you lot, you only have a few minutes to get to your next class. Off with you.''

I made a shooing gesture, cutting Spinks off. Her friends started to leave. She gave me one last look and turned to leave.

''Oh, and Ms. Spinks? I suggest you have a look at the Loch Hall behind the Common Room, the one with all the advice from Slytherins to Slytherins carved in the wall. Check the most recent line.''

_The_ _only_ _way_ _to_ _stay_ _at_ _the_ _top_ _of_ _the_ _heap_ _is_ _if_ _people_ _are_ _trying_ _to_ _lift_ _you_ _up_ _instead_ _of_ _trying_ _to_ _pull_ _you down_. _Make_ _yourself_ _worthy_ _of_ _their_ _efforts_.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Mondays my Second Period was open. Through the rest of the year this would be a chance for me to mark papers, answer student questions, or otherwise work on school administrivia. But on the first day of classes, with no papers due and most of my students still scared of me, it was just a lot of spare time. I sat in my old-fashioned office chair, feet up on the desk, while Sister Shibley hovered nearby.

''Och, 'at went weel. In mah life a Master at Hogwarts fa coods nae cest Shieldin' Wards woods nae hae walked it ay th' room.''

''I haven't walked out of the room yet,'' I pointed out. ''Anyways, in your life people thought torturing animals was fun.''

Sister Shibley squirmed a bit, looking embarrassed. ''Aye, as main be...''

''Did I say your name properly?''

''Aye, nigh enaw. Ur ye coods say Maelduns, since yoo're nearly a Sasunnach.'' She looked at me, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally she spoke. ''Dae ye nae hink Aa'm tay auld fur thes room ay bairns?''

''You've missed a lot of classes, student.''

''Aye.''

I waited a few seconds to see if she had more to say. ''You told me that you stayed behind after the centaurs burned Saint Cyprians because you'd always wanted to stay at Hogwarts. You wanted to be a teacher. And you only took your simple vows after your family died because you couldn't go back to their farm.''

''Och aye. Aye, but... Ah micht hae gain back. Mah uncle woods hae welcomed me. Mair than welcomed me, dae ye see?''

''Ah.'' More than kin and less than kind indeed. He'd been dead for centuries. Would it be worth trying to track down his grave to piss on it, or would he be mud by now?

''But Ah nae can be a scholar haur, Professur hunter! Neither student nur teacher. Aa'm deid!''

''The Chair of Muggle Studies is allowed an assistant.''

''But there's bin nae sic' Chair since Headmaster Scamander's day! An' e'en if thaur hud bin, yoo're nae - ''

I smiled at her. She stopped.

''Yet.'' I pulled three letters out from an inside pocket of my academic robes. ''These are letters to three members of the Board of Governors. Key followers of Lucius Malfoy, a man who survived two years in Azkaban with much of his power base intact. An important ally, if we can win him over.''

''Ah min' heem. Aye followin' 'at Riddle whelp abit. Ne'er first tae stain up fur naethin.''

''Yes. Not a man to approach directly, but these letters to his followers should do the trick. Of course as a Muggle and new member of the faculty, I've not heard of the research Chairs at Hogwarts. I'm merely asking - Repeatedly, in many different ways - For resources to improve our understanding of Muggle society and technology. It's not my fault that Lucius Malfoy will suddenly find his followers bombarding him with questions about active infrared cameras, or night-vision devices, or LADAR, or high-resolution satellite imagery. Questions that he can't answer.'' I took a little packet of oat cookies - Biscuits - out of another pocket, and put the biscuits and letters in the bottom left drawer of my desk. A few seconds after I closed the door I heard a rustling sound, like rodents scurrying around in the desk. The letters would be away by owl in a matter of minutes.

It's amazing what you can get House-Elves to do for you if you just remember to leave bread and cream out at night.

''Och, 'at will be weel dain if ye can dae it. But noo whit will ye dae fur lae ay yer time?''

I waved at the stacks of Wizarding newspapers on my desk. ''Start looking for Cornfoots. I've got a year's worth of newspapers here. If the Cornfoots have done anything interesting I want to know what it was, who they did it with, when they did it, where it happened, and why.''

I sighed, staring at the stacks. ''Work like this is exactly why I turned down a job with my homeland's spy agency. People think it's all cloak and dagger stuff, but really it's gossip and research.''

''Ah can help. ghosts arenae strang, but Ah can still lift pepper.''

''Can you read Modern English?''

''Och aye. Aa've reid most aw ay th' library. There's nae sae much tae dae when yoo're deid.''

''Well, have at it, 'Prentice Shibley.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Third Period, the last class before the noon meal, saw me teaching Third Years. After my experience with the First Years I started the class in a cautiously optimistic mood.

The Third Years came right in, stomping and glaring and reeking of adolescence. I smiled at them and launched into my prepared speech and roll-call. Then I opened the floor to questions.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''No Ms. Weasley, Texans are not cannibals. Yes, I'm quite sure of that. No, not even the ones with chainsaws.''

How many branches could one family tree possibly have? For God's sake someone buy the Weasleys a book of Birth Control Charms.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''No Mr. Goyle, I'm not blind. I'm not stupid either.'' Although I was starting to have my doubts about Mr. Goyle. ''If you're going to try to Hex me, at least have the courtesy to wait until my back is turned. Fifty points from Slytherin, see me after class about detention, and for God's sake put out your robes. The smoke is irritating the other students.''

I'd have to speak to George about his Shield Charm work. The rebound effect was nice, but I couldn't keep setting fire to students. Surely a parent would complain.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Mr. Nott, this is a difficult class and all of your classmates are new to the subject. They are all trying their best and they all want to succeed, so if you can't think of anything helpful to say _then_ _keep_ _your_ _bloody_ _mouth_ _shut!_''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Mr. Goyle, just because you've thrown your textbook out the window doesn't mean you don't have to read it. It just means your parents will have to buy you a new copy. Let's see, Smil's _Creating_ _the_ _Twentieth_ _Century_ costs seven Galleons at Flourish and Blotts, times seventeen...'' I did some quick math in my head and, yes, a bit on my fingers. ''One hundred and nineteen? One hundred and nineteen points from Slytherin, one point per Sickle. And see me after class about - Oh, right.''

I no longer had doubts about Mr. Goyle's intelligence.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''I saw that, Dinah Greengrass. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor, see me after class about detention, and if you ever try to Hex Sister Shibley again then God help me I will make you eat your wand.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I started the class in a cautiously optimistic mood. By the end of it I'd become the Second Coming of Severus Snape.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

At Hogwarts the morning meal was called _breakfast_, the mid-day meal _lunch_, and the last meal of the day _supper_. A full _tea_ with sandwiches, scones, biscuits or pastries, and of course tea, was available throughout the day for students and staff with an open period. A _High_ _Tea_ would be served at seven o'clock, on the off chance that you hadn't managed to cram your gullet full by then.

This lunch I sat between Galilea and Professor Lestrange. The meal today was salted herring, heavy barley bread, and pea soup with minced carrots and leeks. I wondered how the students felt about Helga _Hvalpuf_'s authentic Northern European medieval cookery now that they weren't eating feast-foods.

''How did you find the students?'' Galilea asked me over the din from the students

''So far? The First Years are great. The Third Years are animals.'' Beside me Rebecca Lestrange laughed once, bitterly.

''You are here to tame them. In their defence, I suspect most of them act out of fear rather than true malice.''

''That was my sense. Well, it's not too bad. I've only had to threaten one student with grievous bodily harm.''

''Was that Vincent Goyle? I'm told he's earned five detentions in his first day.''

''Does that include the two I gave him?''

''Seven detentions in the first half of the first day? Mr. Goyle has set a new record for Hogwarts. We may have to issue him a Time-Turner just to serve his punishments.''

Rebecca Lestrange grunted. ''He's good at Charms.''

Galilea peered past me the Rebecca Lestrange, chief Charms Instructor. ''Didn't you also issue him a detention?''

''Didn't say he wasn't a prat.''

A loud _bang!_ echoed through the Great Hall. Galilea and I both jumped, her reaching for the wand under her robes and me pushing my chair back. At the far end of the Great Hall Rubeus Hagrid strode through the doors he'd obviously kicked open. Conversation in the Hall died down as the leather and wool-clad half-giant marched down the centre aisle, carrying his burden.

In one hand Rubeus carried a man, holding him upside down by his legs. The man struggled to keep his robes up over his pants - Which, in the version of English I'd grown up with, meant he was wearing nothing but underwear under his robes. In the other hand Rubeus carried a bundle of kindling, and as Rubeus came closer I could see the sticks and tinder had once been a broomstick. Rubeus reached the staff table and dropped the man in front of Galilea.

''Caught this one sneakin' about th' East Wing.'' Rubeus dumped the broken broomstick on top of the man's head. Reaching into one of his pockets Rubeus pulled out a twisted lump of leather and metal. ''Had this too. Used t' be a camera. Guess I squeezed a bit too hard, yeah?''

Galilea stood and looked over the edge of the table. I stood next to her and looked at our intruder. The wizard sat on the floor picking straw and splinters out of his hair.

''This is assault it is! Assault on a member of the preee - Uuuhh...'' He slumped down to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head.

''I've always wanted to do that,'' said Galilea. ''Mr. Hagrid, was he carrying any identification that you saw?''

''Press card for th' _Wizarding_ _World_ _Weekly_.'' The big man shrugged. ''It's an alright rag, s' long as ye only buy it fer the pictures.''

The press was sneaking around the East Wing on broomsticks? I groaned. ''I'm going to have to start closing my window shutters.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Fourth Period, Fourth Years. First through Third Years were in my class because they had to be. Upper Years took Muggle Studies as an elective, and they were eager to learn.

Unfortunately they had also had more time to read all the bad old texts in the Hogwarts Library. Whoever had written _Home_ _Life_ _and_ _Social_ _Habits_ _of_ _British_ _Muggles_ needed a swift boot to the arse.

''Muggles do not 'use electricity' to clean their teeth. An electric toothbrush uses electricity to rotate a small brush, and they use that brush to clean their teeth. No one applies electricity directly to their mouth. Not only would doing so kill you, it would hurt the whole time you were dying.''

I noticed a few students glancing out the window. From the corner of my eye I saw something, just beyond the glass...

I looked and saw a witch, a woman about my age on a broomstick, floating just outside the window. I looked, and she saw me look, and our gazes locked, and her face fell into an expression of terror.

From behind me I heard a student gasp in shock. ''_Mum?_''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I went to the Hog's Head that evening. I didn't scribble in a notebook or chuckle to myself. I spent the evening snarling at people and asking questions like _'What_ _are_ _you_ _looking_ _at_, _then?_' and '_You_ _got_ _something_ _you_ _want_ _to_ _say_ _to_ _me,_ _mate?_'.


	18. Chapter 18

Rowling. Rowling Rowling, Rowling. Rooowliiiiing.

Rowling.

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Interview I of a series:

Subject; Shibley NicMaeldun Scott (Deceased), Novice of the Sisters of Saint Cyprian at Hogwarts. Date; Sunday 3 September 2017. Place; 3rd Floor (?) East Wing, east side (?), Room 7A (Of 5).

''Ah were born by th' Hamhaig Balkway. Hawick, th' Sasunnach say. Mah fowk waur husbandmen thaur.''

Sister Shibley 'sat' across the table from me, giving every sign of reclining comfortably while she floated a half-inch above the chair. Of course she couldn't touch her glass of wine on the table, but I'd asked the House-Elves to bring her one anyway. Tea was long after Sister Shibley's era, and she didn't like the smell of it.

We were in my quarters, sharing wine and listening to a House-Elf rustle around in my flu. They'd taken to nesting there since I'd closed it off. The sounds of children playing in the school grounds came in through my closed windows.

''Did Hogwarts send owls then?''

''Och aye. But nae tae those born tae plain-fowk. Tae those a Master woods come frae th' skale. But mah mammy waur a drow-wife, an' Master Ross ay Saint Marys taught me th' drow-craft.''

Schooled by a lay-priest and then sent to a boarding school with students from all over Britain. What sounded to me like a backwoods accent marked her as one of the learned elite of her day. But some of the terms she used... ''Sorry, 'drow-wife'?''

''Witch, ye ill-learned Sasunnach.''

I probably did sound a bit like the English she'd known in her life. Many of the accents of England had changed heavily in the 18th and 19th Centuries, as the new bureaucracy and rising middle class tried to enforce Received Pronounciation on the general population.

''Your father knew his wife was a drow-wife? And that you were learning magic?''

''An' others amang his kin kent. But e'en 'en, it waur a danger.''

''How much threat were the Muggles, the plain-folk, against witches or wizards?''

''Mah mammy waur a drow-wife, an' kent hoo tae draw th' unspoken waters ur bless th' wuid fur force-fire. but she hud nae wain.'' Anger twisted Sister Shibley's freckled face. *'''Squib', they say noo. As thocht mah mammy waur nae true drow-wife. She coods see th' deid an' reid anes, but these ones - '' She jerked her chin in the general direction of outdoors, and the students there. ''They say yoo're nae true witch if ye dornt hae th' High Art, th' wain craft.'' Sister Shibley laughed. ''An' ur thaur sae mony ay us, 'at we can flin' th' Cunnin' aside? Mah kin waur husbandmen. Ah ken ye nae can breed a beest tae its ain withit harm. Thaur waur nae sae mony towheids nur sanguine folk while Ah lived.''

''There were fewer sanguinary types in your day?''

''Och aye. Thaur waur redheids, but nae sic' a stoatin host amang us. When we closed th' way tae th' Cunnin', we waur left wi' nane but near kin tae choose uir men ur wi'es frae.''

''When did you shut out the Cunning?''

''Och, jist efter th' traitur Laird ay Glenlyon led th' mudder at Glen Coe. An' thaur waur a stoatin quake at London, as God's punishment fur heresy.''

Right. Sister Shibley was a Catholic of the Late Middle Ages. Bagshot and _Hogwarts_, _A_ _History_ didn't say directly, but my sense was that the Wizarding community - Or what would become the Wizarding Community - had been staunchly Catholic. But the Early Modern Period just after Shibley's death saw massive changes. The Protestant Reformation, the early nationalist wars and the rise of nation-states, the Secession from Rome, the English Civil War, Restoration, the Glorious Revolution... Secrecy and Seclusion must have seemed like a good idea at the time.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''It waur th' year th' Sasunnach captured Sooth Berwick. Th' Prioress tauld th' centaurs she'd nae allaw heretics tae hide in th' Forbidden Forest - We didne caa it 'at. It was jist th' wuid oan th' holy sward at th' time.''

''Hogwarts. Haligswart?'' All those books of English place-names were paying off.

''Aye. It waur knoon fur its Genius Loci lang afair e'en th' castle waur haur.''

Every now and again she reminded me that I should not think of her as poorly educated. I had to think about _Genius_ _Loci_ for a few seconds: Spirit of a Place.

''So that was, what, the early Fourteen-Eighties?''

''Eighty-tae, Ah hink. But they keep changin' th' calendar oan me. Tois ur thee years afair Kin' Henry waur crowned.''

Well, I could look up the exact date later. ''Why did the Prioress call the centaurs heretics?''

''Och, they waur ay th' Eastern Kirk. Orthodox, ye ken. Th' Wizengamot lit them keep their faith when they cam, but th' Cooncil didne loch it. Sae they sent th' Reverend Mammy ay Saint Cyprians tae carry a message tae th' centaurs, demandin' they swear an oath tae th' Holy Faither ay Rome.''

Oh, no good could come of this. ''And what message did the centaurs send back?''

Sister Shibley shifted 'in' her seat. She drew her feet up under her and tucked the tunic of her habit around herself. All of this was done without the sound of cloth on upholstery.

''Their message?'' She tapped her belly. ''Tois arrows tae th' gut, frae clean athwart th' lang field. Och, those centaurs ur guid shots. 'En they burned th' Priory.''


	19. Chapter 19

There are over half a million Harry Potter stories on alone. By this point I think J. K. Rowling is afraid to enforce her copyright. We outnumber her.

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

I woke up to a sense of _presence_ and the scent of Jessi's hair. The scent faded as I woke, and I found myself in my stone room at Hogwarts. The feeling of someone else in the room stayed.

I kept my breathing steady and slow, and listened. I heard nothing, not even the small sounds a body makes. So it was either a ghost, or Peeves, or just a false alarm. I opened my eyes and had a look through the night's grit.

A ghostly young woman sat 'in' one of my chairs, her translucent pearly form hovering just a bit above the chair. Her curly hair was trying to fight its way out of its braids, and she wore a plain short-sleeved gown over a kirtle. She looked over at me and smiled. ''Guid morn, Master Geoffrey. Ur ye weel?''

''What - '' - Are you doing in here? - Happened to your habit? I cleared my throat and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. As my brain-fog lifted I realized that waking up was having its usual effect on a certain part of my body. I sat up in bed and piled up the blankets on my lap.

''Good morning Shibley.'' I blinked a couple of times, wondering exactly what to say next. ''You changed your, um, everything?''

''Mah seemin', aye. Sister Regina fancies herself th' heid ay th' Grey Kimers, as thocht it waur a proper order. She said Ah cooldnae serve as yer apprentice an' bide wi' th' Kimers.'' Shibley grinned as though at a happy memory. While she enjoyed herself I tried to figure out what a 'kimer' might be. Judging by the context I guessed it meant 'lady', as in the Grey Ladies. ''An' Ah said she waur a horrid auld nag, an' Ah'd nae be part ay onie order 'at woods lit th' likes ay 'er in. An' sae haur Ah be.''

Ghosts could change their 'seeming'? No, wait. I knew that. I'd seen what Nearly-Headless Nick looked like when there were no children around. Four dozen whacks with a dull axe had left Sir Nicholas of Maimsey-at-Portontown looking as though he'd stuck his head under a lawnmower. That meant...

No, I was too tired to figure out what that meant. Later for that. ''So, apprentice. Have you noticed any changes over the past few centuries? Say, in attitudes towards privacy?''

Shibley looked puzzled. ''Nae, Master. Aa'm nae sure whit ye pure techt.''

'Pure techt'. _Mean_, or _get_ _at_. I yawned and shook my head. It was way too early to be trying to translate Shibley's accent. ''Okay, we'll go over that later. For now I just need you to step out of the room while I pull on some clothes.''

''Wa, Master? Ur ye nae wearin' keks awreddy?''

Yeah, Shibley and I needed to have a chat. First subject: Why it is inappropriate for teenaged girls to ask middle-aged men about their underwear.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Galilea and I hadn't spent the night together since our disastrous first date. Instead I'd taken to escorting her from her quarters to breakfast most mornings. This gave us a bit of time alone to talk and, more importantly, snog like teenagers in the stairwells.

We separated after a few minutes, both a bit flushed. ''How do you make peppermint smell that good?''

She smirked. ''Let's just say I have Neville slip a few extra ingredients into my perfumes.''

''Mm. They work.'' I went back in for another taste.

Finally we pulled apart. ''Time to put in an appearance,'' said Galilea. ''It wouldn't do to be too late.''

She used a Charm to straighten her hair and robes while I smoothed out my own robes. Possibly the only good thing about academic robes is their ability to cover embarrassing evidence. Once we were presentable we made our way down the stairs to the Great Hall's side entrance, coming in near the staff table.

''You should keep the Head Teacher's chair at the table all the time,'' I said. ''It looks comfy.''

''It looks ridiculous,'' said Galilea. ''My feet don't even reach the floor. That beast is for formal occasions. A regular chair suits me quite nicely the rest of the time.''

I saw Lestrange, Neville, Svensen, and Burke, plus a few staff I'd only had a chance to speak to at staff meetings or meals. I didn't see Idris Isgar or Ewart Fairbairn, both of whom I needed to speak to. I'd probably need to arrange meetings. And I definitely needed to speak to Professor Theobrosan about ghosts and seemings.

Galilea sat in her centre place, and by a kind of unspoken agreement there was a spot at her left for me. This let us hold hands under the table, while I ate with my left and Galilea with her right hand. Today Rebecca Lestrange sat to my left, while Neville Longbottom sat to Galilea's right. I said good morning to Neville, then sat by Lestrange. ''Morning, Professor Lestrange. How's the Charmed life?''

She grunted. Rebecca Lestrange looked hung-over most mornings. You could never be sure if she'd spent the previous night drinking, or reading the kind of books required of the Chair of Studies in the Dark Arts. Or maybe both. Galilea had assured me that some books are best read in a fuzzy state of mind.

''You seen the _Prophet_ yet?'' Lestrange asked me. The dark-eyed witch handed me a folded newspaper.

**NEW** **TEACHER** **SETS** **STUDENTS** **AFLAME**

''Ah crap.'' I closed my eyes for a few seconds. After opening them again I set the paper aside. ''That can wait for after breakfast. Oatmeal and toast, please. And a double espresso in a large mug, with the rest of the mug topped up with regular coffee.''

The oatmeal and toast appeared an instant later, but no coffee. I repeated my order. A second later a tiny wrinkly pink creature appeared on the table. The nervous House-Elf craned his neck around to stare at the crowd of students. House-Elves are very private creatures, and this one obviously was not happy with having to speak to me.

''Begging for the Professor's pardon, but Billy Blin is sending us up to ask the Professor - Is the Professor really meaning that, sir?''

I showed the House-Elf the headline. It blinked. ''Ah. Will the Professor be needing more than one, sir?''

I shook my head. Lestrange spoke up. ''I'll have one too.''

The House-Elf vanished. An instant later our coffees appeared. Giving my hand a squeeze under the table Galilea said ''I'll speak to Rita later today.''

''Thanks. We've got enough trouble without this kind of press.'' I pulled a few envelopes out from a robes pocket and put them on the table. ''That being said, I'm curious as to how Rita learned about my inglorious and unlamented military career. I doubt Bill Weasley leaked it, you don't get to be a human working in a senior position at Gringotts if you can't keep a secret. So these are for different departments at Gringotts. All legitimate business, but I've salted them with information that should be of interest to the press. Nothing embarrassing, unless you're a Black or a Wyvern.''

Rebecca Lestrange looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup. I shrugged. ''Cousins on my mother's side. Until a generation ago there were a couple of Squib families living in the Saint Marys, Ontario region. Refugees from the Pureblood families here. I'm the last one left though. Sometimes I wonder if my mother was right about a family curse.''

Galilea squeezed my hand again. I picked up one of the envelopes and showed it to her. ''This one is about that business a friend of ours said to me just before the meeting with Rita. I realized he had a bit of a point. Jessi and I had a joint insurance package that can't be modified without both of our approvals. There's a fair amount of money in it. I just haven't wanted to admit that I need it.'' I sighed and put the letter down. ''I know it sounds stupid, but being the first to admit I need the money just, well, it just seems like she wins, somehow.''

''Eat your breakfast, Geoffrey. You'll feel better once you have something other than caffeine in you. And I know you have plans. You'll feel much better once you have the resources to follow through with them.''

''Yeah.'' I turned my attention to the oatmeal and toast. I knew Galilea was right, both about the food and the money. I also knew that Jessi felt the same way I did about that policy.

Rebecca Lestrange downed the last of her coffee. ''I don't know what you think could embarrass the Blacks. There's hardly any of that lot left, and the ones left are all mental.''

''According to my great-grandmother, her cousin Phineas drank like he thought someone was going to take it away from him. And while Virginia may have been trimmed from the Black family tree, there's only one Phineas Nigellus Black in the Hogwarts Quill registry born at the right time to be her cousin. And the rumour that a former Headmaster of Hogwarts was a drunk, well that's enough of a minor scandal to catch the media's attention without seriously hurting anyone.''

Galilea chuckled, a nice low sound. ''That hypocritical old stick. I always knew there was something odd about that particular portrait.''

''That's nothing compared to some of the other stuff in her letters.'' I said. ''My great-grandmother was a huge gossip. Her old letters are full of nasty rumours about her family back in the old country. To say nothing of her neighbors in Saint Marys. Judging by her letters I doubt I would have liked old Ginny, but she's a hoot three generations removed.''

The doors and windows of the Great Hall swung open, letting in both a damp draft and the owls carrying the morning's mail. The first wave of owls swooped down on the tables throughout the hall, landing next to plates of food.

''That can't be hygenic,'' I said.

''I find it's best not to think about it,'' replied Galilea. ''Although it's hard to ignore when your post-owl is carrying a dead mouse along with your mail.''

Another flight of owls winged into the Hall. A pale barn owl from the staff Owlery landed on the table in front of me, bearing my copy of the Quibbler. I thanked it, never really being sure how much an enchanted owl understood. It fussed with my letters for a few seconds, finally got a grip on them with its claws, and flew away.

''What a bizarre way to run a post office.''

''We improvised the whole thing,'' said Galilea. ''And then one day the Ministry decided to make it all official. Now it's traditional, and therefore not to be changed.''

I gave her hand one last squeeze and turned my attention to the papers. I picked up the Quibbler and had a look at the first article under the fold.

**GRIM DOOM FORETOLD FOR MUGGLE PROFESSOR?**

The Muggle professor who has become infamous for his unsavoury activities at the Hog's Head pub first came into Hogsmeade in late August. Now the Daily Quibbler can report the first person he met in that town was Helen Trelawney niece of the famous oracle Sybill Trelawney who prophecied the defeat of Tom Riddle AKA 'Lord Voldemort'. In an exclusive interview with the Quibbler young Helen Trelawney speaks about her encounter with the notorious Muggle, her family's remarkable record of foretelling the future, and her reaction to meeting the subject of Headmistress Galilea Grimward's latest bizarre experiment.

I sighed and showed Galilea the headline. She rolled her eyes. ''We have our parent-teacher conference in a week,'' she said. ''I can see we're going to have to do quite a bit of damage control in the next few days, if we hope to discuss anything other than you with the parents.''

''Well,'' I said. ''They say there's no such thing as bad publicity.'' I turned the paper over for a look at the main headline.

**HOGWARTS** **PROFESSOR** **THREATENS** **TO** **FEED** **FEMALE** **STUDENTS** **HIS** **WAND**


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

First period Tuesdays I had my Slytherin First Years. This included Selena Spinks, who was obviously in a fighting mood.

''I read the first two chapters. There's nothing in there that will be in our OWLs. Mother says Hogwarts doesn't put enough emphasis on preparing students for future employment.''

I noticed the eleven year old enunciating a lot of her words carefully. I wondered how much of that she completely understood. ''Well Ms. Spinks, if you're worried that the next five years won't leave you with enough time to study for your Ordinaries, I suggest you look at the study guides I prepared.''

''Sir?''

''The study guides, Ms. Spinks.'' I gestured to the shelves at the side of the room. ''I mentioned them in our first class together. While the Department of Magical Education doesn't allow me to post answers from recent OWLs, the questions really haven't changed much in several decades. There are are still questions in it about tape recorders, for Mer - God's sake. But if you want to begin studying for your OWLs now, then I've prepared a study guide for you. I appreciate your interest in the subject, and of course I'm available to tutor anyone who wants to put in a little extra work after class.''

A couple of students snickered. I ignored it. The girl glared at me. She had arched brows and a narrow aquiline nose that gave her an excellent glare.

''Of course, I hadn't assigned any reading just yet. So ten points to Slytherin, Ms. Spinks. Make it twenty, since you read two chapters. Excellent work.''

About a third of my students stuck their hands up. ''I'm sorry, but there's a limit to how many points I can award for the same thing. Those of you with your hands up, please leave them up. I'll ask you questions from the first chapter, and award five points per right answer until we get to forty. Mr. Brown, what room does the book begin with?''

''The master bedroom sir. That was where babies were born.''

So much for my question to the next student. Oh well. ''Good work, five points to Slytherin.'' I picked another student at random.

''Ms. Gracian, do you know - ''

''Sorry sir, I have a Professor question.''

''Pardon?''

The half-Veela girl blushed. Over-excitable, easily embarrassed, and 'gifted' with a magical glamour that turned her male classmates into horny gibbering idiots. Poor kid. ''I have a _question_, _Professor_.''

''All right, the rest of you can lower your arms for a minute or two. What's your question, Ms. Gracian?''

''All of these people are dead sir. And Queen Victoria died, I dunno, forever ago...''

''Nineteen oh-one. Hardly even yesterday, from a historical perspective.''

''Uh... Yes sir. But I thought we were supposed to be learning about Muggles. I mean, Muggles now?''

''We are.'' I walked to the front of the class, where I'd taped a couple of diagrams to the wall next to the blackboard. I tapped the picture on the blackboard. ''This is the floorplan I drew yesterday, when you all told me what a Wizarding house looks like. Next to it is a floorplan of a Muggle house from the Victorian Era, the kind of house you're reading about. And _this_ is a floorplan of a modern Muggle house. It's the kind of house a Muggle family would be very happy to live in now. Now Ms. Gracian, out of these three floorplans which ones look the most alike to you?''

''The Muggle ones, Professor.''

''That's because they're the same house, Ms. Gracian. This is the original floorplan, from when the house was built in Eighteen Eighty-Three. And this is the newer floorplan from when the house went on the market in Two Thousand and Twelve. You can see there have been some changes. The kitchen is smaller now, and they've opened the dining and living rooms up into one big space. We'll discuss the reason for these changes in this class.

''But most Muggles live and die within one hundred miles of the place where they were born, and that's close to where their parents and grandparents were born. They take the Underground to go to work, they get fresh water from municipal water systems built in Queen Victoria's reign, they drive and shop on roadways that were broadened or built during her reign, they play or watch sports that had their rules written down in the Victorian Era.''

I stopped and walked back to the front of the class. ''I could go on, but my point is that the Victorian Era is the foundation of current British Muggle life. So in this class we'll start with the foundation and build from that. And you will all learn the official answers to the Muggle Studies OWLs, and you will all learn just how little the Ministry really knows about Muggle life.''

And hopefully by the end of it all, you will all know enough to realize just how stupid the Ministry's approach to Muggle affairs really is. And hopefully you will be smart enough to be angry.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I managed to get the class back on track after that. We discussed Muggle money, and I showed them modern plastic currency and pointed out the security features embedded in it. After that I assigned them the first chapter to read, and handed out a bunch of safety brochures for them to look at. The kind of 'stop drop and roll' and 'don't stick forks in electrical plugs' stuff you can find in primary schools. In our next class I'd ask them questions about modern homes and the hazards in them, and why those hazards were there in the first place.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Second Period I supervised Dance. Minerva McGonagall had introduced an Athletics program at Hogwarts, with the students having Dance three times a week and something called portal-lacrosse twice a week. Galilea Grimward continued that program, with the addition that they were now mixed classes. Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws all had to learn to play together.

Vincent Goyle turned out to remarkably light on his feet. I put him to work helping other First Years with their footwork.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Third Period I had Ravenclaw Third Years. Lord knows 'Claws aren't all brilliant, but they all had questions. After a fifteen minute interrogation about the morning's headlines I managed to drag the class back on subject. I turned things around and asked a few questions of my own, and discovered that thirteen year old Purebloods were _aware_ of electricity but thought it was a type of tiny invisible House-Elf. It lived in walls and did work. What else could it be?

I distributed more safety brochures and made a note to organize some field trips. These kids needed practical demonstrations of electromagnets and electrical motors.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Lunch found me under the Marauder's Map, sitting on Galilea's low couch and turning the Sorting Hat around in my hands. Galilea signed various papers at her desk while watching me from the corner of her eye. Finally I bit the bullet and pulled the Hat on.

''_Again?_'' Asked that deep, rumbling voice in my head. ''Slytherin,'' it said aloud.

''_Not_ _this_ _time_,'' I said, sub-vocalizing the words a bit. ''_I_ _have_ _questions_ _for_ _you_. _Neville_ _says_ _you_ _offered_ _him_ _Slytherin_ _as_ _an_ _alternate_ _House_, _and_ _he_ _tried_ _to_ _argue_ _for_ _Hufflepuff_. _And_ _Galilea_ _tells_ _me_ _you_ _offer_ _everyone_ _a_ _choice_. _You_ _can't_ _just_ _dump_ _me_ _in_ _Slytherin_. _Where's_ _my_ _choice_ _in_ _the_ _matter_?''

''_I_ _offer_ _children_ _choices_. _You've_ _already_ _made_ _yours_. _Or_ _have_ _you_ _forgotten_ _how_ _you_ _managed_ _to_ _pass_ _grade_ _twelve_ _algebra_, _hmm?_''

I blushed. ''_Okay_, _that_ _was_ _stupid_.'' It worked, but it was stupid. It could have really blown up in my face. ''_But_ _I_ _was_ _a_ _teenager_. _I've_ _grown_ _out_ _of_ _that_ _sort_ _of_ _thing_.''

''_Says_ _the_ _man_ _sleeping_ _with_ _his_ _boss_.''

''Damn it!'' I yanked the Hat off and thumped it down on the couch.

Galilea put her quill down and studied me, smiling slightly. ''Is the Hat being difficult, Geoffrey?''

''Little bit, yeah.'' I carried the Sorting Hat back to its place on the shelf, between _Confronting_ _the_ _Faceless_ and _Secrets_ _of_ _the_ _Darkest_ _Art_. Looking at the wrinkles and folds of leather, I swear the stupid thing was smirking at me. I left it there and walked over to Galilea, moving behind her chair.

A few strands of hair had slipped lose from their bun. I brushed them back. ''So have I mentioned lately that I really respect the work you've done at Hogwarts?''

She made a thoughtful noise. ''The Hat must have hit you quite hard.''

''Maybe.'' The sound of rock grinding against rock came through the office door.

''Before you go off to lick your wounds, I recommend you ask Professor Longbottom the details of what he puts into my perfumes.'' She gave my hand a quick squeeze. I stepped back and went over to the chairs in front of her desk.

The door to her office slid open. Ewart Fairbairn and Neville Longbottom came through.

''Neville, you're fussing like you're the boy's granny.''

''Now that's not fair. Hello Headmistress, Geoffrey.'' Neville fixed Fairbairn with a glare as they came over to the chairs. ''He has another detention already, and his father is worried about his classwork.''

''Are you fussing about James Potter again?'' I asked Neville as we all sat down.

''I am _not_ fussing.''

''The boy'll be fine,'' I said to Neville. ''He just needs a girlfriend to give him a bit of focus. Some men never amount to anything in life unless they've got a woman's boot on their arse.''

Neville stared at me in shock. Then he burst out laughing. ''I've ten Galleons for you if you'll say that to Harry. No, better. Twenty if you'll say it to Harry while his wife and Hermione are in the room.''

Galilea chuckled. ''When you gentlemen are done with plotting against The Boy Who Copied His Friend's Classwork, I believe we have matters of security to discuss.''

''Shouldn't Professor Theobrosan be here?'' Asked Fairbairn.

''In light of recent events, the Board has requested that Professor Hunter present himself for an interview - ''

''Ah crap,'' I muttered.

Galilea went on. ''I've set Professor Theobrosan to negotiate the details of that interview. I hope that we can arrange matters more to our advantage. And I hope to hear good news in this meeting. It would be useful to have something positive to present to the Board.''

Neville shook his head. ''Nothing on my end, I'm afraid. Those two that you hospitalized at the restaurant don't know much. They were hired by the third man, the one who died of the rebounded Charm, and not told much other than to kill you and Geoffrey. Ron Weasley is trying to track the activities of that third man over the past few weeks, to find who he might have been working for.'' Neville shrugged. ''More in the line of good news, I know a few of the people he's assigned to watch you two. They're very good. You'll not see them unless they want you to.''

''It's the same on my end,'' said Professor Fairbairn. ''This One Hundred group is either very quiet or very new. No one outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has heard of them. My contacts do know that they've attracted support from a number of Blood Supremacists and hardcore Isolationists, and they've spewed out all sorts of nasty rhetoric, but they don't seem to have done much of anything yet. Or if they have done, it's all been hush-hush.''

''Huh. Them being new might explain it,'' I said.

''Might explain what?'' Galilea asked.

''Well, you're no duellist - ''

''We need to fix that,'' said Fairbairn.

''Good idea. If you're going to be under threat, you should get the training to deal with it. You're no duellist,'' I went on. ''But you are the Head Teacher at Hogwarts. And you don't get to be the Head Teacher without being very good in at least a couple of fields of magic. But Weasley told me that two of our attackers were known to the DME, and from the way he described them they didn't sound like professional assassins. Just a couple of petty thugs. And you don't send petty thugs against a witch who can knock out a man with a thought, like you did with that reporter yesterday.''

Neville nodded. ''Unless you don't have the experience to know better, or the resources to do otherwise. I suppose Ron will have thought of this already, but I'll mention it to him.''

''Lovely,'' said Galilea. She scowled. ''Being attacked by amateurs was bad enough, thank you. What would a professional attack be like?''

''You'd never see me coming,'' said Ewart Fairbairn. ''And I wouldn't use something easily blocked, like an _Expulso_. Which is why you need some basic defensive training.''

''Yes, I suppose we could arrange that for one of my many moments of spare time.'' Galilea sighed. ''I have a block of time open Tuesday evenings, and another on Thursday evenings. Will that do?''

''No. But I'll take what I can get. Are you two still on for the Three Broomsticks on Wednesday?''

''Yes,'' Galilea and I both said. Galilea went on. ''And the Zoo on Saturday. Those dates are non-negotiable.''

''I'll warn Ron,'' said Neville.

''Good,'' said Fairbairn. ''That's personal security dealt with. About school security...''

''I've dealt with that,'' said Galilea. ''I've sent out a letter to the Board of Governors. Midnight tonight I will raise a number of the wards here - ''

''Lethal?'' Asked Fairbairn.

''No, merely painful. Any permanent scarring should be purely psychological. I'm not quite ready to liquefy intrusive parents or members of the press. Yet.''


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

''Did I hear Headmaster Black say your great-grandmother wasn't a Squib?''

''Blood-traitor, according to him.'' I climbed down the ladder to join Galilea. I wiped my hands off on my robes. They weren't really dirty, but talking to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black had left me feeling unclean. ''Ran off and married a Squib, that would be my great-grandfather Mungan Puttock. According to Black none of my maternal ancestors were Muggles.''

''Blood-traitors and filthy Squibs!'' The portrait yelled curses at me from its high perch on the wall. ''Every one of them! Filth!''

''Drunk!'' I yelled back. ''Even your paint reeks of booze!''

Galilea put her arm on my hand. ''Time to go,'' she said firmly. ''I'm not spending my lunch standing around listening to yet another Black family argument.''

The crushing darkness came down on us and we Disapparated out of her office. We Apparated into Hogsmeade, standing in the snow outside the Three Broomsticks Inn. I squinted in the sudden glare off the snow.

''That makes my mother a weird sort of Pureblood, but she never cast a spell in her life. So she was a Squib and I'm a, what, exactly?''

I opened the door for Galilea and followed her into the noise and warmth of the inn's dining hall.

''The terms 'Squib' and 'Muggle' are not terribly precise,'' said Galilea. She paused to ask a server for a table for two. As we followed the young witch through the dining hall Galilea went on. ''The ability to cast spontaneous magic drops off quite quickly after one turns twelve or thirteen. You may simply have never seen her work any magic.''

We sat at a table towards the back of the hall, close enough to the fire to be warm but not so close that I couldn't ignore it. I chose to sit with my back to it. After the server finished reciting the specials and left, I continued. ''No. My mother had a twin sister, Miranda. Cordelia and Miranda Puttock. She died in a fishing accident when they were nine. And my mother lost her left eye when she was seven, playing hockey. I can't imaging any of that happening if they'd been able to do anything about it.''

''Good Lord,'' said Galilea. ''I thought you were being dramatic when you spoke of a family curse.''

''Uh, so did I. Is there such a thing?''

The witch came back with our drinks, gillywaters for both of us. We hadn't had a chance to look at the menu so Galilea and I both ordered the special.

''There is indeed such a thing, and it as nasty a piece of Dark work as Imperius or the Killing Curse. _Relatio_ _Excrucior_, the Kin-Harrower. Speak to Professor Fairbairn about it. He should be able to find if there's one set on you.''

I thought about that. ''I don't think so. I'm not any more unlucky than anyone else.''

''You mean, aside from your entire family dying in a fire? And your little psychotic episode when you were nineteen?''

''Hey now, I managed not to flunk out of college. It wasn't a full-blown psychotic episode.'' Looking back on what I'd just said... ''Okay, yeah, I'll arrange a meeting with Ewart.''

I sat back to collect my thoughts. By Wizarding standards, all this made me... A Halfblood Squib? The child of a Pureblood Squib, raised as a Muggle? Galilea was right. The terms Squib or Muggle, wizard or witch, weren't really adequate. From Squibs and Muggles who could see spirits, to a couple of my students who could barely cast the spells they'd need for their OWLs despite being from the 'best' Pureblood families, to people like Riddle who could influence human thoughts as children... There seemed to be a spectrum of magical ability, and the Wizarding World didn't seem to have the language for it. They'd invented political definitions, social definitions, and like all crude racist language it fell apart as soon as you took a close look at reality.

The server brought our smokies and bowls of Cullen skink. The smell of chowder and smoked fish pulled me out of my thoughts. Galilea and I started in on the food, and for several moments the only noises from our table were the clink of cutlery and the small sounds of eating. About halfway through my smokie I slowed down.

''Did you see the Quibbler today?'' I asked Galilea.

''Unfortunately. I don't know what's happened with them. They used to be quite reliably pro-reform. But these days...''

''_'Will_ _Muggle_ _Professor_ _Lead_ _YOUR_ _Child_ _Into_ _A_ _Death_ _Trap?'_.'' I quoted the headline. ''The good news is, it wasn't on the front page. The bad news is, I only started distributing those safety brochures yesterday, so - ''

''It must be a student sending these rumours on to the press,'' Galilea finished. ''I wish we could narrow it down a bit though.''

I shrugged. ''I can think of a half-dozen students who seem scared but fascinated with me, a half-dozen who are just scared, and another half-dozen who I think genuinely hate me. And it's only the third day of classes. Just wait until I spring that pop quiz on them next week.''

''I must say, you're taking this remarkably well.''

I scoffed. ''This is nothing. I used to lie awake at night plotting to kill Pere Noel. That's what I called my thesis advisor.''

'''Pere Noel'?''

''I did my PhD at a French-language university. It's French for 'Father Christmas'.''

''I know what it means, but why 'Pere Noel?''

''Easy. I only ever saw him once a year, he had a beard you could lose a small child in, he always seemed to be wearing the same outfit, and he had a list of who he did and didn't like.'' I shook my head. ''God, I hated him. '_A_ _ma_ _connaissance_, _Monsieur_ _Chasseur_...'. Just admit you were too damn lazy to do a review of the literature, you useless old fart.''

''Oh dear. I seem to have triggered a rant.''

''And he would always call me _Chasseur_ instead of Hunter. That's not even the right form for my name, and even if it were none of the real French faculty had trouble with Hunter. Jessi never had trouble with my name, and she grew up in a purely Francophone community. My advisor was a Hispanic guy from from fucking San Diego.''

Galilea raised her eyebrows. ''I must get the whole story from you.''

''Later. You're right, I'm ranting. That's a lousy way to spend a lunch date.''

We turned our attention back to the food, polishing off the chowder and smoked fish. It was a good solid combo for a snowy late Autumn day, and I started to feel a bit more relaxed. The last of the bad taste from my conversation with Headmaster Black faded.

''I spoke with Professor Trelawney.'' Galilea carefully wiped her mouth with her napkin. ''She assures me that her niece Helen has never shown the slightest sign of any talent for divination. Sybill suspects that her niece is merely playing to the press. The young lady is apparently, and I quote, 'a complete attention-whore'.''

''Charming,'' I said. ''Does she lecture her students with that mouth? But I guess it is reassuring.''

''Very. I worked in the Department of Mysteries long enough to learn to hate prophecy. Trying to understand the loops causality must bend itself through to avoid paradox... I spent a fortune on headache remedies thanks to those with the Second Sight, and I didn't even work directly for that Office.''

The server cleared our dishes away and we passed on pudding. Dessert. Whatever. When the bill appeared in he middle of our table I got to it before Galilea could.

''I know for a fact that I earn more than you do,'' she said.

''Yes, but I have a puny male ego. If I let you pay my big hairy coconuts will shrivel away.''

''Well we can't have _that_,'' she said, smirking. ''You need to earn your keep, after all.''

I counted out Sickles from my change-purse, trying to lighten the load a bit. Carrying all your cash in coins gets heavy. ''What's the standard tip around here?''

''Ten percent, perhaps a bit - Oh no Geoffrey, that's far too much. You'll make the poor girl nervous, she'll think you fancy her. Put that back.''

''Right. Sometimes I forget we're in Scotland. Think _sheep_ and _cheap_.'' I took a few coins back.

Galilea gave me a faked look of outrage. ''I grew up here. We are not cheap, we are frugal.''

We left the inn and stood in the glare. I watched a man clear the snow from the walkway, using one Charm to melt the snow and then another to steam away the water. I spoke quietly to Galilea. ''If your school had taught him how to use a shovel when he was young, he'd probably get enough exercise to lose that gut.''

''We use magic for everything, even when Muggle methods would be more practical.'' Galilea wrapped her arm around mine. We fell through darkness and came out on the other side in her office. I looked over to the portraits and was relieved to see that Black wasn't in. I didn't need another fight before class.

''What Year do you have next?''

''Second. Gryffindors. I haven't had a full class of Lions yet. Anything I should know?''

Galilea thought for a second. I ran a finger down the crease in her forehead and down her nose. She leaned up and kissed the tip of my finger. ''They're loud and they like attention,'' she said. ''And if they can't get positive attention they'll fight for negative attention. But they're hopelessly transparent about it. Hand out House points for every little thing, and take them away for equally small reasons. They'll be happy to play that game all through the year, without ever realizing that you're playing them.''

''Unlike my Snakes, who I have to feed rumours and innuendo to keep quiet.'' I pulled Galilea into a hug. ''The Ravens just want to know every detail of my life. I had a Third Year ask what Muggles use for birth control, since we can't use Charms.''

''What did you tell him?'' Galilea spoke into my shoulder.

''Her. That I'd have Madam Bones look over a couple of Muggle books about it, and if she thought they were appropriate then she'd make them available in the healer's ward.''

''Nicely handled.''

Our hands were starting to wander. A bit distracted I said, ''The Badgers don't care what I do, so long as I'm 'fair' about it and treat everyone the same. Um, I'm not going to be able to walk to class if you keep doing that.''

''Mm. I suppose I should try to be good. I only had that one brief lapse on Saturday.''

'''Brief'? I don't remember getting a lot of sleep that night.''

''I've had a bit of a dry spell these past few years. I think I may be forgiven for relieving a bit of pent up pressure.''

''I'm not complaining.'' After another minute or two I broke the embrace. ''Okay. I really do need to settle down before I go to class.''

''Perhaps a strategically placed Cooling Charm...''

''No.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I finally made my escape from Galilea's office, still a bit flushed. I smiled and nodded at students as I passed them, distracted by thoughts of Galilea but also by thoughts of my mother's family.

I'd thought I'd known more about my great-grandfather than his wife, but other than the basic details of his life I knew very little - Born near Selkirk in 1879, trained as a farrier, moved to Stonehouse in Gloucestershire for no stated reason, married Virginia Black in 1903 and then immigrated to Canada a year later, worked for the Grand Trunk and then Canadian National Rail, and died in a work accident in 1934. Beyond that I had nothing about his family or home life before he'd moved to St. Marys.

My great-grandmother had left behind very little biographical information - Her children thought she'd been 69 or 70 when she'd died in 1939, and she'd been born in a little town near Bristol. Other than that all Ginny Puttock had left behind was a bundle of letters to her cousin Lyra - My other great-grandmother - full of angry gossip about her neighbours in St. Marys and her family back home. The alcoholic Phineas who'd married 'that witch Ursula, who was no better than she ought to be', and Sirius who had died with only his brother as witness, 'and you know what Ella was like', and on and on.

She had clearly been a horrible old woman, but at a safe distance of eight decades dead she had a kind of trainwreck fascination about her. Her surviving son Iain Puttock had married his cousin Moira Wyvern, and of their children only my mother had lived to adulthood. Cordelia Puttock had married Owen Hunter, and they'd begat Geoffrey and Aveline.

Thinking all that through helped. By the time I got to my classroom things had settled down, but I could still smell her perfume on my robes.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

03:00 and the monsters come out.

You can't do this. What the Hell were you thinking? _'As_ _a_ _responsible_ _educator_ _I_ _can't_ _possibly_ _turn_ _this_ _job_ _down.'_ Pompous jackass. As a responsible adult you should have run screaming as soon as you found out it involved working with kids.

Kids. Look at you. God you're transparent. Apprentice? Replacement goldfish is more like it. Aveline's dead, get over it. Don't drag Shibley into your pathetic little psychodrama.

_Shut_ _up._

Witty. Maybe that's what Galilea sees in you. It sure ain't your self-control. Yelling at paintings. Threatening a thirteen year old girl for teasing a ghost. Freaking out at formal dinners.

_Shut_ _up._

You're talking to yourself, jackass. Again. You know what they say about people who hear voices. What do they say about people who hear flames talking? The shrink was right. Schizo. Professor Lestrange is right. All the Blacks are mental. Genetics. Bad blood.

_Shut_ _up._

Speaking of bad blood, how about those Purebloods, eh? You've read _Uses_ _Of_ _Evisceration_ _Curses_ _During_ _Famous_ _Wizarding_ _Duels_. Every day is one day closer to the Entrail-Expelling Curse, courtesy of some outraged Pureblood who discovers that Professor Muggle-Filth is showering in the same bathroom as their kid. They'll go 'Bibbidy-bobbidy-boo' and you'll go ***squirt***.

_Shut_ _up._

That's it? That's all you got? 'Shut up'? Is that what you're going to say when The One Hundred comes for you? _Shut_ _up._ Yeah, that will work. I'm sure they'll think that's a brilliant argument. 'You're stealing magic!' _Shut_ _up._ 'You're corrupting our youth!' _Shut_ _up._ 'We're going to Crucio you to death!' _Shut_ _up._ Forget those loons in The One Hundred, whatever the Hell that name means. This is exactly the kind of paranoid inward-looking echo-chamber society that produces lynch-mobs and, ha-ha, witch-hunts. _Shut_ _up_ won't cut it. When the Purebloods drag you down and start piling up the wood to do to you what they think happened to their ancestors what do you think you could possibly say to them that would make them stop?

_I_ _have_ _your_ _children._


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

Thursday I barely survived lunch. After assigning my Third Year Gryffs their first real homework - Six out-of-date references or outright mistakes in _Muggles_ _Among_ _Us,_ one inch per mistake - and setting Shibley loose in the restricted section of the library, I went to the Room of Requirement and had my first sparring session with Ewart Fairbairn.

Bad enough he kicked my ass. Bad enough he didn't even break a sweat doing it. Bad enough he was smiling the whole time. What made it really bad is that he would not. Shut. Up.

_*Wham!*_ I'd hit the mat and he'd say something like ''Tell your girlfriend that casting Iterum in the middle of a brawl is _stupid_. If she does it again and survives, I'll kill her myself.

_*Wham!*_ ''Perspicacem? In the time it takes to cast that idiot Transfiguration any halfway competent warlock could cast Stupefy twice. Five times if they do it silently.''

_*Wham!*_ ''Somno? Really? A mentalist who can shut down a man's frontal lobes with a thought wastes time with a childish spell like Somno?''

_*Wham!*_ ''For God's sake Hunter, stop letting yourself get angry. You know I'm right.''

_*Wham!*_ ''That one was just for fun.''

Bastard.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

For kicks I posted my favourite academic joke on the blackboard:

Q - How many history professors does it take to change a light bulb?

A - Just one, but 500 applied for the job.

I don't think the students got the joke but I liked it. It gave the room a nice homey feel.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Fourth Period Thursdays I had a mixed class of twenty or so Sixth Years, NEWT-level students.

Galilea insisted on calling the tests by their proper name of the Non-Essentials but everyone else in Wizarding Britain called them the Nastily Exhaustings. NEWTs were the exam that determined where you would start in the Ministry or St. Mungo's or one of the other big institutions in the Wizarding World. The great thing about NEWT-level classes was that there was absolutely no one there who didn't want to be. The bad thing is they were a driven lot...

''I understand that you're all worried about your NEWTs next year, so I've prepared study guides based on exams from previous years.''

Twenty-plus heads perked up, like lions hearing the cry of a wounded gazelle.

''Sir?''

''The Department of Magical Education doesn't allow me to post answers from recent NEWTs, but the questions haven't changed much in several decades. I've prepared a study guide for you, and it's on the shelf by my desk - Whoa!''

Half the class leaped to their feet, a black-robed mob trying to push their way forward to get to the guides.

''Sit down! Sit! What are you, eight years old?'' They settled down, looking embarrassed but not taking their eyes off the shelf. ''The guides will still be there at the end of class, and you've got a year to review them.''

I gave them a minute to calm down. ''Good. Now, welcome to Muggle Studies for Sixth Years. I'm Professor Geoffrey Hunter, and before any of you ask I have a PhD and two Masters degrees, which the DME has agreed to recognize as the equivalent of five NEWTs. So yes, I am qualified to teach this class.'' I'd actually felt a bit insulted that it was only five, but Galilea had assured me it was a perfectly respectable offer and that I should save my energy for other battles. ''So have you all had a chance to look at the reading list this year?''

All of my students nodded. ''Good. If it seems a bit light to you, don't worry, it's not. Those are all university-level texts. We'll spend our year working through the Ministry-approved material, and you will come out of this class ready to ace your NEWTs - ''

Or I will skin you all alive for threatening my job.

''But those Muggle textbooks will put the Ministry's information into a new context for you. Not only will you be ready for your NEWTs, you'll understand what it all means. And we'll do field trips so you can all put what you know into action. Before we begin this year, are there any questions about the teaching material?''

Translated from the Academese that last sentence meant: How many of you have actually opened the books? It turned out they all had, which was great. I had a feeling I was going to like my NEWT students.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I'd already decided to treat my Sixth and Seventh Years like young adults. By Wizarding standards most of them were of age or almost there. Not a lot of point trying to treat them like anything other than what they were. I gave them the standard lecture about being late or missing classes - That I didn't care and and wouldn't be deducting points or marks for attendance, and they didn't need my permission to go to the toilet, but if they missed anything in class it was their own job to catch up.

''I expect you to have your classwork turned in on time, and I expect you to show up on time and ready for all exams. The schedule is posted by the door, I suggest you check it at least once a week in case it changes. There are some group projects in this class. If you cause trouble for the other people in your groups, if you're late with your work, disruptive, or just not pulling your weight, then you're in serious trouble. You're adults, and I expect you to act like it.''

I shrugged and spread my hands. ''And those are the rules. They're the same rules you'll run into at most jobs. Show up for meetings, get your work done on time, cooperate with your colleagues... And that's it. Welcome to the grown-up world.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''I'm a long way from an expert, Mr. Scott. But it looks to me like the Green Party depends on voters who could just as easily go for SNP or Labour. If you can convince me otherwise, with a foot by end of school-day Monday on how the Greens can make gains in the next election, you get twenty-five points for Ravenclaw.''

My NEWT kids were out of touch with Muggle daily life, fashions and fads and brief internet memes, but a lot of them got Muggle newspapers and had Muggle family. They knew British politics better than I did.

''And for the next class, I want you all to have a foot comparing page fifty-one of _The_ _Philosophy_ _of_ _the_ _Mundane_ to actual Muggle attitudes towards the supernatural or paranormal. You can use whatever three Muggle texts you want, fiction, non-fiction, or both.''

Page 51 was the first page in that nasty screed I'd turned to on my first day at Hogwarts. It was an extended rant on why Muggles not only didn't believe in magic, they didn't want to believe and would actively deny the evidence of their senses. The point to the assignment wasn't to convince them that _Philosophy_ _of_ _the_ _Mundane_ was wrong. The point was to get them looking at how Muggles actually thought compared to how the Ministry thought Muggles thought. Next week I'd assign my students to find out just how hard the Ministry worked to force Muggles to ignore the evidence of magic.

I looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes before the end of class, and there were fifteen minutes between classes. Half an hour would give me just enough time for tea. ''Any questions?''

The 'Claw stuck his hand in the air. I sighed. ''Mr. Scott, in higher education when your professor glances at the clock and asks if there are any question, it means that he's ready to let you go early.'' My stomach growled loudly. ''Now, are there any questions?''

The two kids sitting by Scotty had to hold his arms down

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Thursday Fifth Period - Dance, mixed Second Years. I hurt too much to do anything energetic, so I had the kids pair off to practice not stomping on their partner's toes. Sixteen pairs of giggling, blushing, tripping-over-own-feet kids who couldn't meet each others eyes and who I had to keep reminding to breath. I left class wanting to hug each one of them and tell them all they would be okay, but figured I was in enough trouble with their parents already.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

My quarters were getting a little cramped. I'd made some space by stacking my boxes literally up to the rafters, and I'd properly hung my bulletin board instead of leaving it leaning against a wall. But I'd had the House-Elves bring in privacy screens around my bed, and set some other screens up around a chair and little reading table for Shibley, and that didn't leave a lot of room for my own table and chairs. Hopefully that place off Diagon Alley Neville had told me about was bigger than this room.

'Sitting' across the table from me was Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, or _of_ _Maimsey-at-Portontown_ depending on whether you preferred the Early Modern English or Mangled Anglo-French form. And speaking of _forms_... Under his bloody and shredded hip-length doublet, Sir Nicholas looked like roadkill.

''I'm certain the headsman was smashed,'' he said. ''The fellow could barely stand upright, don't you know?'' His form shifted as his seeming changed. Now he wore a '70s Era leisure suit with popped collar. ''What do you think? Is this appropriate for being seen?''

''In my opinion, stick with the ruff.'' Under that collar I could still see a great jagged cut across Sir Nicholas' neck. Apparently he could never entirely hide the marks of his death. ''I think the students will be disappointed if you don't look old-fashioned.''

He humphed, but changed his appearance back to the familiar doublet and ruff. ''I'm terribly sorry, but one did not wear such foolish things in my life.''

''Try telling that to the kids. They get their history from Famous Wizard Cards. And speaking of your life...''

''You fancy to ask about my botched execution, I suppose.'' He leaned forward and sniffed the air above the plate of cheese I'd provided. Ancient cheddar, blue Stiltons and Sticheltons, and a goat cheese that should have been shipped with a biohazard label. Ghosts liked strong scents, and I refused to have spoiled foods in my room. ''I don't know why. There's hardly anything left to say on the matter.''

''Actually, I was wondering about your role at court.''

The frown dropped from his face. ''Ah. One sees. I was there on behalf of the Wizengamot, naturally. A cousin of the king you know. Through the Ghents, but not through those byblows the Gaunts of course.''

''A man of some standing,'' I said. _And_ _just_ _a_ _bit_ _of_ _a_ _snob_.

''Oh, hardly any.'' He pretended to wave the matter aside. ''Well I say, of course Mimsy-Porpington was a very old patch of land, been in the family some few generations. Knighted for a small favour I paid the king at Bosworth Field.''

''Servant to King Henry and the Wizengamot. A position of some importance.''

''Not at all, not at all. A simple matter of keeping one's eyes open and mouth shut, sending off an owl or two at night to the Wizengamot. And of course keeping His Majesty safe from all forms of magical harm. Hardly anything to it.''

''Court wizard doesn't seem like 'hardly anything'.''

''My duties were mere trivialities. More a matter of not doing magic, really. Making it known that I could do such, of course, and would come down most harshly on others who tried any chicanery in His Majesty's presence.''

''Were such attempts common?''

''No. We loyal wizards and witches kept the king safe. With myself and the Lady Grieve at hand, his well-being was assured.''

_What?_

''I'm terribly sorry but Professor Hunter, are you absolutely all right? You look a bit startled.''

''Sorry, it's just...'' _How_ _can_ _you_ _not_ _see_ _it?_ ''I'm a historian. To my knowledge there's no record of one wizard or witch at King Henry's court, let alone two.''

''The Wizengamot saw that there would be no records of my presence. And as for the lovely Lady - '' Sir Nicholas leaned forward in his chair, speaking in hushed tones. ''Her magic was very weak, you understand. She was at court on behalf of the Wizards Council, entirely in secret in her case, but one thought perhaps they'd sent her there to have her out of the way.''

''The Council and the Wizengamot both had observers at the court?''

''But of course. Always. Until they merged into the Ministry under King William. Politics, don't you know. I was never terribly interested in such matters.''

_Oh_ _you_ _poor_ _stupid_ _Gryff_.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

''Lockhart? Isn't he the one who wrote all those Godawful biographies?''

Neville groaned. ''Tell me you haven't read any of those.''

''No. I flipped through a couple of them in the library. I gave up when he described Hermione Weasley as having 'moist chocolate-brown orbs'. What does that even mean?''

Across the table from us Rubeus shook his shaggy head. ''Y' ask me, they never should'a let him out o' th' hospital.''

''Is this the same guy who managed to Obliviate himself during the basilisk affair?''

There was a chorus of resigned 'Yes'es from the others at the table. Neville, Idris, and myself had one side of the table, Rubeus most of the rest. No one had rented the private room for the evening, so Hannah had exiled her husband and his colleagues from the main floor of the Leaky Cauldron. The room was painted in a warm yellow with black trim.

''He writes an adventure series as well. My children love it. Supposedly historical.'' Idris nodded at Neville. ''Set during your school years - ''

Neville groaned again. ''I've seen it. I've read it. It's awful. It's worse than awful.''

''Harry likes it,'' said Rubeus. ''He thinks it's funny.''

''I'll bite. What is this series?''

''Supposedly historical, like I said. Set in Harry Potter's schoolboy days, but written from the point of view of another student. A blonde, devastatingly handsome young lad - ''

''Looks just like the author, only younger?''

Idris nodded. ''And is smart, and popular, and best friends with Harry and Ron and Hermione...''

''Oh God. Lockhart writes fanfic. Who does he ship?''

The Halfblood Idris laughed so hard I thought he'd spill his drink. Rubeus and Neville just stared at us. ''Muggle joke,'' I said. ''It would take too long to explain, and by the time I did it wouldn't be funny. How's the actual history in the books?''

''Not awful,'' Neville admitted. ''Actually, good enough that when I see students reading them in the Gryffindor common room I look the other way.''

''Of course you do. He makes you out to be a knight in shining armour,'' said Idris. ''I remember your First Year...''

''Oh no.'' Neville turned a bit pink.

Idris leaned forward. ''Oh yes. The girls used to talk about you in the Slytherin common room...''

''Oh, please no.'' The pink spread towards his ears.

''Cutest First Year ever. That's what Deborah Greengrass said.''

''... Who?''

''You remember her, even if you don't remember her name. Seventh Year girl, my age.'' Idris put down his pint. He made a gesture describing a woman who would have problems walking through doors.

''Oh, _her_.'' Neville went bright red.

Rubeus laughed and reached across the table to pat Neville on the arm. ''What'd I tell yeh, boy? Yeh worried too much.''

''So Geoffrey, speaking of... '' Idris made the gesture again.

''They're real, they're fantastic, and you'll never see them.''

''She was a couple of years ahead of me,'' said Idris. ''I never did pay her much attention. Always wore baggy robes, slouched all the time. That, and everyone knew Kenrich liked her. No point in trying, really.''

''What was he, crazy-jealous?''

''Kenrich? No no. A bit of a temper maybe. But he was from an old Pureblood family, rich, clever, good-looking...''

I finished off my pint. ''Oh boy. No pressure.''

''Speaking of Purebloods,'' said Neville. ''What was that between you and Belladonna Black?''

''_Nothing_. The woman is insane. I mean it. One minute she's asking about my family tree, the next she's trying to suck the enamel off my teeth.'' I looked into my empty mug. ''I need another drink. I can still taste her tongue.''

''My round,'' said Rubeus.

''Listen, if she does it again I'm pressing charges. I told her and Galilea that. She's mental.''

''Th' Blacks must be gettin' desperate if she's willin' to try for a Halfblood Squib. No offence.''

''None taken. You're probably right, they're running out of cousins who are willing to get within ten feet of them.'' I shuddered. ''Were they always this creepy?''

''**Yes.**'' From all three of them.

''Sirius was all right,'' said Neville.

''Sirius was _not_ all right.'' Rubeus said. ''He was never a bad sort - Well, mostly not. But he was not all right.''

''Damn. All right, I'll be back in a minute. I need to use the bathroom. Loo. Whatever.''

This Friday the Cauldron was packed. On my way through the crowded main area of the Cauldron I thought I saw a familiar face. I didn't look too closely, since I really did need the loo.

Loo. Damn, that's a ridiculous word.

The problem with a Wizarding pub loo is that they figure anyone old enough to be in the pub is old enough to cast basic Cleaning Charms. Neville had told me that soap and water actually work better than the really simple Charms, but it's cheaper for the pub to let customers wand themselves clean. Fortunately I'd remembered to pack some hand wipes.

'Loo'. Seriously.

Coming back to the common area I looked again at the booth furthest from the front door. I'd been right the first time. The Cornfoot woman and two friends. She was wearing the same clothes I'd seen her in earlier, on my way to the pub from Diagon Alley. Her friends wore expensive dark robes that looked out of place in the casual crowd at the Leaky Cauldron.

It took a while to get to the bar. Wizards and witches had all sorts of different spells for sending messages, but they still took their turn at the bar and only a prat would use magic to cut ahead in the queue. Eventually I got there and ordered a pint to look like I had a reason. I also told the bartender that Neville needed to talk to Hannah when she had a moment.

Finally I got back to the private room. Everyone there looked pretty subdued. ''What's up?''

Idris spoke up. ''I just told Neville and Hagrid that I'm not taking the Deputy Headmaster position. I'll tell Galilea tomorrow.''

''She's not going to be happy about that.'' That was kind of an obvious thing for me to say.

''No, but if I take the position I'm not going to be happy about it. What about it Neville? You have the experience.''

''I like teaching. I like being Head of Gryffindor. I'd have to give up both to be Headmaster.''

''Binns?'' I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Rubeus snorted. ''Nah. Black.''

That got a laugh. We were still arguing over who'd be worse, the psycho bitch or the senile bigot, when Hannah came in levitating three trays above her head.

''What's so funny?''

''Idris isn't taking the Deputy Headmaster job,'' Neville told her.

''And neither are you. It'd drive you spare.'' Hannah lowered the drinks and food to the table. ''What did you need to see me about?''

''Sorry Hannah,'' I said. ''My bad.''

''Your bad what?''

''Sorry Hannah, _mea_ _culpa_. I needed to speak with you.'' I explained about Cornfoot and her two friends.

''I don't know who they are but I can find out discreetly.'' Hannah leaned over and kissed Neville quickly. ''I've got to get back to it. Sorry love.'' Hannah left with the trays and our empties floating above her.

''Pickled eggs, Scotch eggs, pork scratchings, crisps, chips, chicken in a basket...'' I looked at the food Rubeus had ordered. ''I can tell you're single.''

''Shut up an' eat.''

There were a couple of drinks in front of me that I didn't order. ''What're those?''

''Those,'' said Neville. ''Are your butterbeers.''

He clunked a pint mug down next to the one I'd ordered at the bar. ''Traditional butterbeer. What you'll get at the Hog's Head. And if you're lucky, they'll leave out the drowned rat.''

''That only happened once,'' said Rubeus.

''They only drowned one rat, or they only left it out of the drink once?'' Neville put a mug of something frothy in front of me. ''Butterbeer soda. What the kids will get if they come in here and try to order a butterbeer.''

I picked it up and tried a sip. ''_Uch_. Tastes like diabetes.''

''Try this. A butterbeer shot. Butterscotch schnapps and cream soda.''

I downed the butterbeer shot. ''Schnappy, with an aftertaste of schnapps.''

''Before you get too far into it, I should remind you that you're closer to forty than you are to thirty.''

''An' a lot closer to forty than you are t' twenty,'' said Rubeus.

''Meh. Pass the pork scratchings. I need to get the taste of schnapps out of my mouth.''

Idris pushed his empty pint mug away from him. ''That's it for me, I'm afraid. I'm on the wrong side of forty all together, and I've got an early morning tomorrow.''

''Do you need a quick pop home? There's probably an Apparatus downstairs.''

''No, I'll Floo it. How about the rest of you, any plans for tomorrow?''

''Hannah actually has a weekend off. We're going to sleep in. Then there's a thing with the Weasleys on Sunday.''

''Same,'' said Rubeus. ''Got some Fourth Years muckin' out th' stables for detention, but other than that nothin'. Nice an' quiet.''

''A date with Galilea in the afternoon - We're going to the London Zoo, neither of us has been before. In the morning I want to drop in at Ollivanders, see if I can talk to the old guy, Gerry I think is his name. After that it's Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes so I can pick up some supplies. Then I'll drop in at the Oakby Centre, see if I can track down some data on just how many Squibs there really are. The numbers are all over the place. And Neville gave me a lead on a flat I should check out. All in all, a pretty quiet day. ''

Idris said his final goodbyes and headed out. The next few minutes were just me, Rubeus, and Neville, eating and drinking.

I watched Rubeus for a bit, the big mountain of a man capped with a grey peak. He noticed me watching and gave me a questioning look.

''Nothing,'' I said. ''Just remembering my first day in Hogsmeade.''

Neville laughed. ''You should have seen your face. I'm sorry Geoffrey, but the look...''

''Was that before or after you petrified me?''

''Just before. 'Must go now, many people are expecting me'.''

''Glowing stick,'' I said. ''Weirdo in a cloak.''

'''Expected back very soon now'.''

''Weirdo in a cloak. Glowing stick.''

''And the way those women screamed when you ran into the kitchen...''

''Hilarious.''

''Yeah,'' said Rubeus. ''Wish I'd taken a picture when yeh saw me.'' Rubeus looked up and up and up towards the ceiling, pulling an exaggerated expression of shock.

''Still, you're doing all right. New job, new girlfriend, new dau- ''

''Perfume.''

''New perfume? I didn't notice.''

''No. Galilea told me to ask you about her perfume.''

''Oh that.'' Neville leaned back in his chair and smirked. ''Yes, I'm happy with that new scent. It's going to make me a lot of money. George and his wife are working on the marketing, but the compatibility potion is all mine.'' His smirk took on a meaner edge. ''I was utter crap in that class. Nice to know it was him, not me.''

''He wasn't so bad,'' said Rubeus. ''He always said yeh had stones.''

Neville gave Rubeus an are-you-joking look.

''Hey, he was better than Umbridge.'' Said the half-giant.

''If that's our standard, Aragog could have been Headmaster.''

''Hate to interrupt guys, but the potion?''

''Compatibility potion,'' said Neville. ''You can only smell it if you match the traits that were brewed into it. The closer the match, the stronger the smell. And it smells better too.''

Rubeus grinned. ''George wanted t' call th' batch Neville cooked up for th' Headmistress 'She Wears Th' Trousers'.''

''Uh-huh. And what are the traits?''

Neville counted points off on his fingers. ''Likes kids, monogamous, honest, hard-working... I forget the rest, actually. Hermione says we should call it 'Telly Dad'.''

I thought for a few seconds. ''I must be getting old. That's actually kind of flattering.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''So a 'professor' is just a teacher, and a 'master' is a professor. I mean, a professor-professor.''

''I... Think I followed that.'' Neville frowned and leaned forward on the table. ''Look, almost anyone with the right NEWTs can teach. I mean, they can't necessarily _teach_ but they have the requirements to be a professor. A master is a recognized authority in the field.''

''Neville's a Herbology master,'' said Rubeus. ''He did field work. Black's jus' a professor, all she's got are her NEWTs. Lestrange is a Dark Arts master, but she can't teach it. Can't be a professor. Too much time muckin' abou' with the Dark Arts makes yeh...'' Rubeus made _cuckoo_ noises.

''Professor Fairbairn is stable,'' Neville said.

''Yeah. Whatever.''

I thought that over for a minute. After five drinks - No, six - Or was it five? Six. Downing the schnapps in one go had been a mistake. After a few drinks the thought process took a little more time. ''So there are professors, there are masters, and the Chairs do what? Edit journals?''

''That's about right,'' Neville nodded. ''Edit journals. We're not a big community, so Hogwarts and St. Mungo's try to support research. Sometimes students come back for post-NEWT work, use the library and school facilities. We supervise that. I had one last year, I'm chair of Cryptozog - Cryptozoology and Thaumosophic Botany. Creeped me out, that girl. She was a little too fond of the slinking octovines.''

''There's empty Chairs, right? Muggle Studies, History and Archology, Archololgy, Archalogy - ''

''You're cut off,'' said Neville. ''When you can't even say a simple word like Archiogol oh Hell.''

''Muggle Studies, History and _Archaeology_ fuck off, History of Thaumotology...''

Rubeus interrupted me. ''Got plans there, Geoff?''

''Fuck yeah. So what do I need to do to get made Chair?''

''Sleepin' wi' th' Headmistress is a good start.''

''Asshole.''

''_Arse_hole.''

''I know you are but what am I?''

''Merlin's skid-marks,'' said Neville. ''You two, what are you, First Years?''

I snorted. ''Merlin's skid-marks?''

''The kids rub off on you after awhile. It's your turn next. Just you wait.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''They've got plans for you, Geoffrey. Watch out. I heard them talking in the Gryffindor common room.''

''Yeah. Idris said the same about the Snakepit. That's why I'm going to Weasley's tomorrow. Arm myself.''

''Look at yeh,'' Rubeus laughed. ''Talkin' abou' th' 'Snakepit'. Less'n a month an' yeh fit ri' in.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

''Neither of you are Flooing anywhere tonight.''

''I'm allri' t' Floo,'' said Rubeus.

''Oh yeah? Say 'Hogwarts'.''

''Hogwars. Ho'warts. Hogs... Y'still go' tha' mat?''


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

The next morning I hired an Apparatus to take me back to Hogwarts. After paying him to wait at the front gates of the school I went back to my quarters. It was still fairly early but the halls were already full of kids, all of whom had far too much energy for their own good. Even on a Saturday, with many of the students off visiting family, old Hogwarts was crowded. I overheard some kids comparing their card collections, Famous Wizard Cards versus Wizard Of The Month Cards, and had to fight the urge to confiscate both sets. I hold the manufacturers of those cards personally responsible for Wizarding Britain's shaky grasp of history. Putting the card-players behind me I kicked some Second Years outside for running in the halls and told them I didn't want to see them for at least an hour. I left it up to them as to whether that meant 'stay outside for an hour' or 'avoid the professor for an hour'.

In my quarters I found Shibley and one of the Grey Sisters hovering by Shibley's screened-off area. When I walked in the conversation paused, and the two of them watched me carefully. Shibley stood with her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched. The Grey Sister glared at me.

''You look upset, Shibley. What's wrong?'' I closed the door behind me and matched the nun's glare.

Shibley 'shuffled' her feet, an odd sight given that she was about fifteen centimetres above the floor. She unfolded her arms and clenched her hands in front of her. ''It's naethin', Master Geoffrey. Sister Margarit merely cam by fur a gab.''

''I'm here to see that Sister Shibley is well,'' said the dead nun. ''And to encourage her to return to the order.''

''Not only was Shibley a novice and free to leave at any time she wanted, her order died out over four hundred years ago. She remained with the Grey Sisters out of choice, and she left out of choice.''

''Her vocation is not one to set aside - ''

''You are in my quarters without my permission. And you've obviously upset Shibley. You can leave now, or I can track down that mad bitch Black and slip her a few Galleons to Curse you so hard your descendants will feel it.''

Sister Margaret opened her mouth to speak.

''Go,'' I said.

Still glaring at me, the nun floated past towards the door. ''Sister Shibley, you must - ''

''Shut yer gob-hole, Maggie.''

Sister Margaret huffed mightily and vanished through the door. I turned to face Shibley. She was still clenching her hands together, but she looked a bit more relaxed than she had earlier.

''A little easier to stick up for yourself when there's someone else around?''

''Aye. Aa'm sorry Master, Ah didne ask 'er in an' she wooldnae lae...''

''That's fine, it's not your fault.'' I went over to my wardrobe and started looking for a fresh shirt. ''How long was she here?''

Shibley sighed. ''Weel ower an hoor, Master Geoffrey.''

I tossed my fresh clothes on my bed. ''Billy Blin, may I have a washbasin, some soap, and a facecloth please?'' I turned back to Shibley. ''If anyone bothers you again when I'm not around speak to the Headmistress or Deputy Headmaster, or to Professor Bonamy.''

A loud snap announced the arrival of my requested washbasin on my table. I sat down and took off my old shirt.

''Professur Bonamy? Wa 'er?''

''You're a Hufflepuff, right? She's your House Mother.'' Much to the joy of nearly every male in that House, and probably a tenth of the female Hufflepuffs. The Music and Athletics professor looked like an anime girl come to life.

''Ah... Ah dornt hink ghosts ur in th' Hooses, sae much.''

I finished washing up and towelled off. ''You should be. I'll talk to Professor Bonamy about it. And what I said about talking to these people if anyone bothers you? That applies to me as well, if I get on your nerves.''

''Nae. Ack, nae. Ah woods ne'er gang behin' yer back 'at way.''

''It's not going behind my back,'' I said as I tucked in my shirt. I'd have a full wash and shave later in the day, before my date. ''It's having someone to talk to when I get annoying.''

Shibley just gave me a quick quarter-bow. I guessed she wasn't convinced, but I decided not to press the matter. ''Can you Apparate or be Apparated?''

''Nae, Master Geoffrey.''

I thought for a minute. ''Can you use the Floo Network?''

''Aye.''

''D'you want to go shopping in Diagon Alley?''

''Aye!'' Her eyes went wide for a second. Then her face fell. ''Aa'm nae allowed it withit an overseer. Nae since 'at wee matter wi' th' Earl ay Strathmair.''

As my father once told me, sometimes you're just better off not knowing. ''Well, you'll be with me. That counts as supervision.'' I asked Billy Blin for a bucket of Floo Powder, and told the chief House-Elf to have it deducted from my pay. A half-second after the bucket appeared by the fireplace it occurred to me to ask Shibley how much Floo Powder cost.

''Ah dunnae kin. Am Ah pure gonnae messages?'

Messages? Right, shopping. No one in Britain actually speaks English.

''Yes. Does the actual flue have to be open for the Floo Powder to work?'' I heard rustling and scratching noises from the fireplace, which I guessed were the House-Elves at work. ''Thank you, Billy Blin. I'll buy some fresh bread at Witch's Rest for you.''

Shibley laughed. ''Th' Brounies loch ye, but they hink yoo're huir uv a auld fashioned. Ah've nae bin tae th' Alleys in ages an' ages. Whaur ur we gonnae?''

''I need breakfast, so we're going to Witch's Rest first. And if I don't see the old guy Ollivander there, Gerry I think, we'll try the wand shop. Then I have a few places I need to go. If you get bored you can Floo back to Hogwarts.'' I hadn't been planning on asking Shibley to come with me, but she'd obviously had a bad start to the day. But my shopping itinerary would probably be pretty boring...

''Bored?'' Shibley laughed. ''I've not been to the Alleys since that Irisher McGonagall were a lass.''

''Let's leave the ancient ethnic prejudices out of this, shall we? The Cauldron probably isn't open yet. Try the Witch's Rest first, I can't remember if they have a fireplace or not.''

Shibley rushed over to the fireplace and stuck her hand in the bucket of Floo Powder. I expected her to lift a bit of powder out, but instead her entire form turned faintly green. She floated into the fireplace and said ''Witch's Rest!'' Her body transformed into a pillar of green flame that collapsed in on itself, shrinking into a sphere of emerald flame that disappeared up the chimney.

''I'm almost positive this isn't what they mean by 'raising the dead','' I muttered. I grabbed my jumper and left, hoping the Apparatus hadn't gotten bored and gone looking for another customer.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

He hadn't, and he knew Diagon Alley well enough to drop me right in front of the café I found Shibley hovering anxiously in a table towards the back of the café, telling a couple that she was holding the table for someone.

The man of the couple sneered at me as I sat down. ''Ghosts should keep out of the way of people.''

''Bigots should keep their mouths shut in polite company.''

The server stepped between us. A short woman in plain dark robes, she looked to be about half my age and I immediately felt guilty for putting her on the spot like that. ''Sorry,'' I told her, not looking up at the couple. ''I haven't had food or caffeine yet, but that's no excuse.''

The server nodded and led the couple away before they could say anything else.

''Sorry Master.''

''It's not your fault I lost my temper.'' I picked up the menu. With Shibley still standing in the middle of the table half the page was in her hip. ''Why don't you have a seat?''

She looked down. ''Och, reit. Sometimes Ah forgit myself.''

''So what are you having?'' I reached out under the table with my leg and pushed the chair out for her.

She made a sour face. ''That's nae funay. Ah miss scran.''

''Well, don't order any food if you don't want to. But one of my duties as your master is to supply you with room and board.'' Or scran, which I suppose was something food-related.

''But Ah dornt eat.''

''Right. Which reminds me, because it normally doesn't cost me anything to feed you, you get two Galleons pay a week. You've been my apprentice since the Fourth, so you have two weeks back-pay plus your pay for this week.''

Shibley's expression was just blank. ''But...'' She looked down at the table.

''I know the students treat you like furniture. Hell, the teachers treat ghosts like furniture. But you're a person, just like any of the students. And you're my apprentice, which means I'm responsible for your upkeep.''

Shibley stared down at the table. Finally, without looking up, she said in a very quiet voice ''Main Ah hae porage?''

''Yes.'' Yes! ''Anything to drink?''

''Nae. Ah dornt loch tea ur coffee. An' th' scent ay fruit juice has nae body.''

''We have wine.'' I hadn't realized the server had come back. I looked up to see her watching the two of us with a wide-eyed expression of fascination. Shibley looked up at her, then to me. I shrugged.

''Aye, please.''

We ordered, and with one last look at the two of us the server left.

''So speaking of master-apprentice duties, it's time to focus on your education. Here's a question for you.''

''Aye, Master.''

''What do I have that Lucius Malfoy might want?''

Shibley looked confused. ''Is thes Muggle Studies?''

''No, it's politics. At this point, Lucius Malfoy knows he has something I want - ''

''Th' Chair ay Muggle Studies.''

''Right. But why should he bother to recommend me for the position?''

Shibley sat up straight and lifted her chin. ''Coz yoo're a master in th' field an' a doctur ay philosophy.''

''And that gets him what?''

She stopped. ''Er, Ah dornt kin. Is 'at nae whit a teacher shoods be?''

''A teacher, yes. But research chairs command resources, and in order to direct those resources you also need to be an administrator and a politician. So if I want the resources that go with a research chair, why should Lucius Malfoy expend his resources to help me get that position?''

Shibley silently tapped her fingers on the table, the sleeves of her gown hanging down through the surface. ''Ah dunnae kinn, Master.''

''That's a good answer. If you don't know, you just have to identify what you do know and build on that. What do you know about the Malfoys?''

Shibley snorted. ''They're nae mair than a jumped up pack ay cheapmongers. Aye hae bin, aye will be.''

''Right. They run a couple of the import firms that bring in goods and food from the Muggle world. And I've seen Sickle Shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. As far as I can tell they own those as well.'' Sickle Shops were Wizarding Britain's answer to Pound Shops, or what I'd grown up calling Toonie Stores after the Canadian two-dollar coin.

Shibley frowned. ''Sae, ye hae wares tae seel?''

''No, but - '' I noticed the server approaching with our food. I waited until she'd set everything out. After she left I went back to the business at hand. ''If you want to make Muggle goods disappear into Wizarding shops, you need accountants, bookkeepers, and lawyers. And my father's family, the Hunters, are an extended group of upper middle class professionals in Inverness...''

''Och, bludy thievin' Highlanders.''

''What did I say about ancient ethnic prejudices?''

''Sorry, Master.''

My stomach growled loudly. ''Right. The Hunters are a bunch of civil servants, accountants, and lawyers. I don't know if the Malfoys need any more contacts outside of what they already have, but it can't hurt to start there. And while I eat, I want you to see if you can think of anything else the Malfoy family may want.''

For breakfast I'd ordered a 'traditional' full English breakfast, which so far as traditions went dated back no further than the ability of the English people to afford a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, blood pudding, and beans, all of which represented more protein than a Pre-Modern labourer would have seen in a day. It was far more food than I really needed, and probably wasn't good for my blood pressure. Tasty though.

The couple that Shibley had defended the table from were sitting closer to the front of the café. They glared in our direction every now and again. Out of the corner of my eye I could see other people in the café giving us an occasional glance. I ignored them and enjoyed my breakfast. While I ate Shibley stared at her porridge with the intense gaze of a tentacle-monster watching a Japanese schoolgirl.

As I used a bit of toast to mop up the last of the yolk from my plate Shibley looked up from her meal. ''Ye coods write a book.''

Given her ideas on patronage and retainership I'd expected her to get there eventually. I was happy to see it was sooner rather than later.

''That's a very courtly idea. Well done. I could churn out a hagiography in a couple of months. But it's too obvious if I write one about the person who then recommends me for an academic posting.''

''Coods ye nae write abit his son?''

''Again, too obvious. Everything Lucius Malfoy has ever done is to advance the position of his family. But it's a good idea, it just needs a little tweaking.''

Shibley watched me finish off my breakfast. She frowned again, thinking. ''Whit 'en?''

''Have you heard the phrase 'sympathy for the devil'?''

''Aye, but th' devil chose his ain path. He doesnae need uir sympathy.''

The server cleared our dishes away and asked if we wanted anything else. I just asked for the bill. ''The problem with Skeeter's history is that even if you agree with her, she's too heavy-handed to really agree with. Her biography of Severus Snape is a good example. Even if you agree that cranky bastard was basically a good man stuck with a lousy lot in life, it's hard to go all the way and accept him as the saint she paints him as.''

''He waur nae dobber, he waur jist a Lancashireman.''

The bill appeared in the middle of the table. I counted out tiny silver coins. ''As may be. I'm living in Wizarding Britain and I've got a stake in its fights. I've picked the Vitalists as my side, because I really don't have a choice. Shacklebolt's Inclusionists are burnt out, Draco Malfoy's Vitalists still have some fight in them. The traditional Seclusionists want nothing to do with me, the Supremacists are fascists, and the Regionalists are a single-issue party.''

I gave Shibley a few minutes to puzzle that out. We left the Witch's Rest and stepped into Diagon Alley's Saturday morning crowd, a mix of shoppers and sight-seers. ''Are you with me so far?''

Shibley shook her head. ''Ah pure dornt hink sae.''

I found a quiet spot under the awning of a shop with a display of wireless sets and iconoscopes, the Wizarding version of radios and televisions. The iconoscope, still a relatively item to Wizarding Britain, was on sale at a mere 2499 Galleons.

''All right, let me put it this way. As an academic what can I do to advance Draco Malfoy's Vitalists, polish the reputation of Lucius Malfoy, and convince people that I deserve a place in Wizarding academia?''

I could practically see the gears grinding in Shibley's transparent head. ''Th' Vitalists want tae brin' in Squibs an' th' goblins, an' th' other beings, tae graw uir numbers...''

''Who else offered the outcast Dark creatures a place in Wizarding society?''

Shibley's jaw dropped. ''Nae, och nae. 'Sympathy fur th' - ' Och, yer awa' wae th' fairies.''

''I'm what?''

''Bapit. A bampot. Mad. An' ye ur.''

''The Death Eaters were, at their heart, a group of principled men and women mislead by a convincing maniac - ''

''Nae nae nae...''

''After all, all they really wanted to do was strengthen Wizarding society and extend it to include their magical brethren, the giants and vampires and werewolves - ''

''Yoo're a total dafty.''

''Really, Tom Riddle set their true cause back by fifty years. But now a new generation has taken up the fight, stripping it clean of the poison of the so-called Dark Lord - ''

''Och, wa dae aw th' nutters end up in Slytherin?''

''That's a totally baseless stereotype. Everyone knows it's the Badgers you have to watch out for. 'Oh, they were such quiet people, the whole neighbourhood is in shock, we had no idea they had a collection of human skins in their attic'.''

''Th' Hufflepuff Sett has nae attic. It has cold-rooms.''

''Okay, let me put it this way...'' I thought for a moment, watching the wizards and witches go by in their out of date clothes. ''I'm going to write a book supporting the Vitalist faction, one arguing that their ideas have deep roots in Wizarding society and that the time has come to put their ideals into action. People will expect that from me, because the Vitalists are the group that wants to open Wizarding society up to people like me. But along the way I'm also going to argue that certain Death Eaters also sympathised with these ideas but were mislead by Tom Riddle. After all, Riddle included a lot of cursed humans or non-human beings in his army, so to these people it must have looked like he shared their ideals.''

''Och, Ah see. Nae a body will expect a Muggle tae write a book sayin' th' Death Eaters werenae aw bad. An' Lucius Malfoy can point tae yer book an' say 'Ah waur misunderstood'.''

''Right. And then Lucius Malfoy can use his position on the Board of Governors to back me for a research position, but it won't look as though that's why I wrote the book.''

''That's... Huir uv a cunnin'.''

''Oh, it gets better. Because I'll need an assistant to help with the research on the book. And to hire a researcher I'm going to need money. And the best person to see about funding to support academic research is of course a member of the Board of Governors...''

''Sae yoo're... Yoo're gonnae tak' bunsens frae Lucius Malfoy tae write a book 'at ye hiner will convince Lucius Malfoy tae support yer bid fur a Chair...''

Shibley tilted her head and looked at me sideways. ''Hae ye spoken tae Herself abit thes?''

''Not yet. I'll bring it up on our date this afternoon. I don't think she'll object though. Once I have a Chair, I'm going to use the resources to destroy the person most responsible for blocking Galilea's plans at Hogwarts.''

''Fa is 'at?''

''Lucius Malfoy.''

''Och. Slytherins.''


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

I closed the door to Ollivanders behind us. ''Well that was a waste of time.''

''Och nae.'' Shibley grinned. ''We ken noo 'at Herself is a totty an' 'at yoo're weel in thaur, guid oan ye, yoong laddie.''

''Right. That's all good to know.'' I lead the way down Diagon Alley towards the corner leading to Knockturn Alley. ''Too bad I went in there to ask about wandlore.''

Gerry Ollivander had nearly talked my ear off. Half of it had been memories of dead friends and the other half had been observations about Galilea's arse. On the plus side, at least Gerry was more than willing to talk to me. I'd try to get something useful out of him later.

''Ah miss mah wain,'' said Shibley.

We turned left into the narrow entry to Knockturn Alley. The cobblestones here were rough and set in crumbling mortar. The brick archways and overhanging gables of most of the buildings dated back to at least the early Stuart Era, and I thought some of the narrow wood and stone buildings might be Elizabethan. ''What sort of wand did you have?''

''Blackthorn an' _bean nighe_ finger-bain. It waur buried wi' me.''

Despite the rundown buildings Knockturn Alley was on its way up. There were shops selling consignment clothes, a record shop selling actual vinyl records, grotty looking little restaurants, and more bars than I would have thought could fit into one block. In the midst of this rising tide the notorious old Borgin and Burkes had transformed itself into an antique shop. The crowd on Knockturn was younger than the crowd out on Diagon Alley, and wore different fashions. People in the leather and wool Teddy Rough style mingled with others who wouldn't have looked out of place at a very odd Renaissance Fair. There were some young women in robes and cloaks, but they'd draped their clothes into folds resembling tunics and great kilts.

At the far end of this hipster splendour stood Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, a shop famous both for its goods and for the owner itself. And at the moment its owner stood outside, using his wand to wipe away the glowing red words _Squib_-_Lover_ and _Blood_ _Traitor_.

He didn't look too upset. As I approached George Weasley looked up from his work and grinned. ''Well if it isn't my niece's favourite teacher. How are you, Professor Muggle?''

Just as I remembered from first meeting him, George Weasley was a bit of a dick. ''I'm fine, Soulless Ginger. And Rose isn't in any of my classes.''

''That must be why you're the only professor she hasn't complained about yet.''

''Too much classwork?''

''Not enough. Poor girl takes after the wrong side of that family.'' George finished waving his wand at the front of his shop. He _tsk_ed. ''Look at that, cleaned away already. When I was a boy I put some effort into my vandalism. You couldn't have cleaned up my graffiti with a simple _Finite_ _Incantatem_, let me tell you.''

''You're taking this pretty well.''

George turned his head to show the scar ridge where his left ear used to be. ''Having a teacher take a slice off you sort of puts everything else into perspective.'' He tucked his wand away into a little pocket on the side of his jumper. ''Shop doesn't open for another half hour, but I'm always happy to see someone with a wallet full of Galleons. Come in and tell me how I can take your money.''

George held the door open for us. Shibley gave him a quick nod as she entered the shop. ''And who's this?'' George locked the door and grabbed a hideously magenta robe off a display case. ''Don't tell me the rumours are true?''

''Shibley, this is George Weasley. George this is my apprentice, Shibley NicMaeldun. What rumours?''

George pulled the robe over his head. He was grinning again as his head emerged from the ugly shop uniform. ''You hadn't heard? School rumour has it you're secretly a Dark wizard. A necromancer.''

''What?''

''Nae, nae. Necromancy conjures demons fa tak' oan th' seemin' ay th' deid. Master Geoffrey isnae but a cunning-man.''

Now it was George's turn. ''What?''

''It's an old term for a wizard or witch,'' I told him. ''It died out in the Twentieth Century among Muggles, but I think your people stopped using it before that. It also included people who could speak with ghosts and spirits but couldn't use wands.''

George shrugged. ''If you say so. So what can I do for you today, Professor Muggle?''

''For starters, if you want any more of my money you can stop calling me that.''

''Touchy. So what can I do for you today, Mr. Professor Doctor Hunter?''

Dick.

We wandered further back into the shop, past rows of firecrackers and bottle rockets, poisonous candies and booby-trapped wands. Everything was packaged in jarring colours, with flashy moving pictures under logos that glittered and swirled. ''I need some new defensive tricks. Neville and Idris have both told me that the kids are plotting something, so that's at least Slytherin and Gryffindor I have to worry about.''

''How are the Shield-Charmed clothes holding up?''

''Really well. But the kids aren't stupid - Well, some of them are. But even the dumb ones know better than to try and Jinx me directly now.''

George rubbed his palms together. ''Ooh, tricky. You need area defences, but not the stuff I've put together for the Ministry. Something that won't hurt 'em.''

''Oh yeah, about that...'' I noticed Shibley examining a display of brightly coloured boxes, all in Halloween orange and chimney red. I wandered over to see what she was looking at.

''The Weasley Whirling Whiz-Bang Deluxe Kit,'' said George. ''A dozen uncontrollable fiery vortices in every box, or five Sickles back guaranteed.''

I had a look at the price tag: _5_ _G_ _5_ _S_. ''They cost five Galleons five,'' I pointed out.

''Of course,'' said George. ''You don't think I'm going to give back _all_ of the money?''

''Are you really selling incendiary munitions to children?''

George grinned again. It seemed to be his default expression. ''Check the fine print.''

I picked up one of the garishly-coloured packages. It took a few seconds to spot, but I finally found the tiny print he meant. There under a picture of a swirling bonfire it said _Child-Safe:_ _Flame_ _Guaranteed_ _To_ _Burn_ _At_ _No_ _More_ _Than_ _50_ _C_.

''They're big, they're bright, they make a fantastic whooshing noise, took me ages to get that sound right, but I'm not a _complete_ madman. I made the first batch for my nephew James when he was five.''

''Great.'' I put the package back on the display. ''Let's just hope my students don't see these and put two and two together.''

George gave me a blank look. He may have been up on Hogwarts gossip but he obviously hadn't heard about my panic attack at the Ministry.

''C'mon, kid. You can find better things to - '' Shibley was gone. I looked around and spotted her in an incredibly pink area of the shop. She was half-in a display, head down in a row of what looked like perfume bottles. She pulled her head out of the display and looked at George.

''Yer draughts want mair saffron,'' she said.

''Nah. Costs too much, and it lowers the shelf life. And I get enough complaints about selling love potions as is. Can you imagine the howlers I'd get if any of my brews lasted more than a day?''

''There's nae sic' beest as a loove potion,'' said Shibley. ''They're aphrodisiacs 'at make ye loost efter th' giver aloyn.''

George rolled his eyes. ''It's marketing. If I sold them as lust potions people wouldn't let their children buy them.''

''You sell date-rape drugs to kids?''

''Muggle-borns,'' George muttered. ''Why is that always the first thing you people think of when you hear about love potions?''

''I don't know, maybe because it's _really_ _obvious_?''

''And maybe that's why taking advantage of someone under the influence is illegal.'' George sighed dramatically. ''Look, no matter what my sister-in-law says wizards aren't all completely senseless. I sell love potions because they're too damned easy to brew. A clever Fourth Year can do it. So we make it easy for kids to buy cheap love potions, ones that don't last as long as a properly brewed fresh batch, and aren't as strong. Get it?''

''Got it. Sorry. I didn't realize they were so easy to make.''

George shrugged. ''It's not all kids either. Most of our customers are couples looking to spice things up a bit, add a bit of pepper to - Where'd your ghost-girl go?''

Shibley had vanished again. I looked around the shop for a few seconds but couldn't see her in any of the other displays. ''Shibley?''

She streaked out of a back area like a frightened cat, passing right through me with a sensation like a bucket of ice-water being splashed through my chest. She stopped and peered over my shoulder, her eyes wide.

''Och Master, he has _those_ _creatures_ in th' back!''

'''Those creatures'?'' Said George Weasley. ''What 'those creatures'?''

''Them,'' muttered Shibley. ''Th' wee furry fiends. They swatch harmless, but at nicht _they_ _feed_.''

'''At night they...'?'' George looked puzzled. ''The Puffskeins?''

''Aye, so Ah've heard them called. Foul things.''

George looked over his shoulder, back to the area Shibley had been exploring. ''But they're... Puffskeins.''

Shibley backed away. ''Ah... Ah'll jist be ower haur,'' she said. She floated away from us, never looking away from the back area. She took cover behind a shelf.

''What do you have back there?''

George made gestures indicating something small and round. ''Puffskeins, that's all. I've never seen anyone react like that before. I've never even heard of... I'll show you.''

''Cannie, Master.''

George looked over to Shibley. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gave me a confused look. ''This way.''

George led me over to a small area behind the pink WonderWitch displays. In the back area there was a small display pen, the type you might see filled with hamsters in a pet shop. A soft soothing hum rose up from the pen as we approached. In the pen, humming contentedly, were a half dozen balls of fur...

''Tribbles?'' I asked.

''That's what Harry and Hermione call them,'' said George. ''But they're Pygmy Puffskeins. They're harmless...''

From the front of the shop Shibley called out ''Dornt turn yer back tae them, Master!''

''... I think.''

''Huh.'' I stepped back from the display. ''So anyways, about the reason I dropped by...''

I backed out of the Puffskein display and then turned to join Shibley at the front of the shop. George followed.

''Right, I'll have to think about that.'' He glanced back over his shoulder. ''I think I have something I can modify for your needs, but I'll need to look at it. My shop assistant will be here to open, then I can sit down and get to work. I'll Floo you this evening.''

''I'm going to be out,'' I said quickly. ''You could Floo the Headmistress' office and leave a message with one of the portraits.''

''The Headmistress' office?'' George Weasley waggled his eyebrows at me. ''The rumours are right then. So is it true that she's...''

''An accomplished Legilimens and knows every nasty thought that's ever crossed your mind? Yes.''

''You're a braver man than I am, mate.''

''I doubt it. Aren't you the one who pelted Lord Voldemort in the face with snowballs?''

George laughed. ''Me and Fred had a serious brown-trouser moment when we found out about that.''

''Master, main we gang noo?'' Shibley came up close behind me. ''They micht awaken.''

''Er...'' George looked back over his shoulder.

''All right Shibley. I have some other places I need to visit this morning.'' I turned back to George. ''The Shield-Charmed clothes work great, but like I said...''

''Even the dumb ones have figured out not to target you directly. Don't worry, they're up against the Weasley Wonder of the Wizarding World now.''

On that we left George Weasley. When we last saw him he stood staring at the back area of his shop, a worried look on his face.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

When we left Weasley's shop I saw a dark-haired wizard with a strange box in his hands. I almost ducked back into Weasleys Wizard Wheezes until he raised the box to his face and I realized it was an old-fashioned camera, a flip-top thing that looked like it came from the 1970s. I ignored the photographer and went in search of Jezebel Rosier's group, the Society for the Support of Squibs. The Oakby Centre of the Society for the Support of Squibs was just across the street and a few doors down from George Weasley's shop. As we approached the narrow brick building I asked Shibley about Puffskeins.

She snickered. ''Dae ye hink he feel fur it?''

I paused at the door of the Oakby Centre and gave her a mock glare. ''Brat.''

The ground floor of the Oakby Centre held a narrow reception area, with a few old chairs and a table at the front and a beat-up desk further back. Behind the desk a middle-aged witch looked up as we came in. She watched us carefully and kept her right hand out of sight under the desk.

''Hello, my name is Professor Geoffrey Hunter. I'd like to speak to Ms. Rosier if she's free.''

The witch pulled her hand back from under the desk and tucked her wand away in a robe-pocket. ''I'm not certain she's in today,'' she said. ''I'll just go check.''

Behind the desk there was a stairway leading up and a door leading further back into the ground floor. The witch went into the back area, leaving Shibley and I alone in reception. I wandered over to a rack of pamphlets.

''A coothie boorichie,'' said Shibley.

Even after a few weeks of talking to Shibley every day, I needed a minute to realize she'd called them _a_ _friendly_ _bunch_. Thank God I'd grown up in contact with my Scottish cousins. ''If George's shop was vandalised, I bet the Centre was too.''

''Och, ay coorse. Ah didne hink ay 'at.''

The pamphlets were obviously cheap. The pictures moved, but they weren't interactive. I poked an image that showed a young man picking up a clunky grey laptop and it just kept going through the same set of motions. The pamphlets covered a range of subjects, from schedules for computer-literacy programs to instructions on how to pay utility bills or open a bank account. I took a handful and stuffed them into my pocket, including one that described the Oakby Centre and its mission. That last one turned out to be identical to the Muggle version, with brief biographies of the leadership and a meaningless 'mission statement'.

The back door opened and Jezebel Rosier and the receptionist came out. Jezebel wore an odd mix of clothes, a sleeveless green jumper that wouldn't look out of place on Charing Cross Road over a blue and gold light witchy gown. She looked briefly at Shibley, then her gaze settled on me. ''Hello Professor Hunter, it's good to see you here. What can I do for you?''

''Hello. Shibley, this is Jezebel Rosier. Ms. Rosier, this is my student Shibley NicMaeldun. Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?''

Jezebel Rosier learned faster than most people. ''Hello, Miss NicMaeldun.'' She nodded politely to Shibley, who returned the gesture. ''We can speak in my office, but I'm afraid I don't have much time. I'm presenting a workshop this morning.''

''That's fine,'' I said as Jezebel lead us into the back. Beyond the door was a long narrow hallway with doors along the left. We followed Jezebel to the third door, which turned out to be a cramped office with a tiny desk and a couple of chairs. I took the worn-out chair Jezebel offered me and waited for her to sit behind her desk.

''I apologize for being brusque earlier,'' she said. ''I've had an extremely hectic morning.''

''Did the Centre get vandalised this morning?''

''Yes. Nothing serious this time, but it's always frustrating.'' Jezebel scowled and shook her head. ''That's done with. What brings you here today, Professor Hunter?''

''I have a bank account at Gringotts.''

Jezebel was silent for a second. ''Do you have a wand?''

''No.'' I leaned forward. ''I can't discuss the details under threat of Obliviation, but I've looked over my contract a couple of times now. There's nothing to stop me from telling you that I have an account, or that the representatives who signed for Gringotts are named Gaff and Groundstob. I never saw them though, they worked through a human named Bill Weasley. And the person who started the whole thing rolling is Galilea Grimward.''

Jezebel grabbed a quill and started sorting through the papers on her desk. Finally she found a clean sheet and wrote the names down. ''Is there anything else you can tell me?''

''No. Believe me, the contract is thorough.'' I laughed a bit. ''I like Gringotts. The goblins might be brutal when it comes to contract enforcement, but they give you more than fair warning.''

''I think you're the first person I've ever heard to use the words 'goblins' and 'fair' in the same sentence.''

I shrugged that off. So far as I could tell wizards and witches had a bad habit of making deals with goblins without paying attention to the details, and then assuming those details should work in their favour.

Jezebel put her quill back in the pot and tapped the sheet of paper with her fingers. ''Do you know how many times we've appealed to Gringotts to open accounts for Squibs?''

''No, but I'm sure it's a lot. I have a friend who estimates over twenty percent of Wizarding society is actually Squibs.''

Jezebel shook her head. ''That seems a bit high to me. Although since there's no good definition of Squib even within the Ministry's Opportunities Office, your friend may not be too far off.'' She gave me a speculative look. ''Your friend wouldn't happen to be Professor Longbottom, would he? There are rumours...''

''I've seen Neville Transfigure a pint mug into a fork. He didn't have the best grades in school, but he's no Squib.''

''Mm. Shame about that. It would have been useful to have him.'' She folded the paper into a neat square and stuck it into a desk drawer. ''Professor Hunter, I'm sorry to cut this short...''

''I understand, believe me. I used to work eighty-hour weeks when I was teaching at the Muggle university.''

I stood and let Jezebel lead Shibley and I back to the reception area. There were a half-dozen kids in the front, all in Muggle clothes. One of them held up a shoe box when Jezebel came into the room.

''Miss Rosier, my trainers don't fit anymore. Can you help? I need someone to cast a Stretching Charm on them.''

''Good morning, Martin. I'm well, thank you. How are you today?''

I waved good-bye to Jezebel and she waved back while the kid apologized.

Back on Knockturn Alley I had a look around for the photographer, but he seemed to have left. I found a bar that hadn't opened yet and stepped into its doorway, getting out of the way of the people on the street. I fished around in my pocket until I found the pamphlet about the Oakby Centre.

''Let me have a look at this, then we can finish up and get back to Hogwarts.'' Shibley watched while I read the pamphlet. Finally I held it up for her. ''Here's a list of the directors at the Centre. Look at the little biographies there, and then tell me what you see.''

Shibley read the pamphlet carefully while I held it. She scowled and then shook her head. ''Aa'm sorry master, Ah jist see their names an' schoolin'.''

''What about their schooling?''

Shibley looked again. ''Weel, they aw hae NEWTs, but... Och! Nary a body ay them is a Squib!''

''Good eye,'' I said. I put the pamphlet back in my pocket. ''Neither is Jezebel, or the witch at the desk. When we have more time I'll explain the modern concept of privilege to you. But in the meantime let's get back to Diagon Alley. I need to pick up some bread for Billy Blin and the others, and find a flower shop.''

''Ah hink Herself lochs daisies.''

''Yeah. But I need to get flowers for someone else too.''

''Fa, Master?''

''Severus Snape. I need his help, and since I can't bribe him with money I'll bribe him with small favours.''

Shibley rolled her eyes. ''Ye coods try simply askin' heem.''

''Where's the fun in that?''


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

The Apparatus and I popped back into reality just beside the guardhouse at the main gates. I staggered away from him, my stomach flip-flopping. A thick mist hung over the ground, and I think the shock of the cold air washing over me was the only reason I didn't lose my breakfast.

''If you can't handle Apparating you should've said so before you hired me,'' said the Apparatus.

I took a couple of deep breathes in the cold mountain air. ''That was the roughest Apparation I've ever been through.''

The Apparatus shrugged. ''Not my problem. Five Galleons.''

I counted out his money and memorized his face. I wouldn't be hiring that guy again. As soon as he had his money he muttered something about useless Squibs and then Disapparated away. I shook my head to clear away the last of the nausea and started up the path to Hogwarts Castle.

Over the centuries Hogwarts had been known by many names. The bridge over the Black Laich leads up from Hogsmeade, the middle land of the estate, towards the holy sward on Wart's Howe. In the 10th Century refugees from the depredations of the Vikings and the expanding Anglo-Saxon kingdoms came to Oighreachd-Meadhanach, and with them came a pig-farmer named Hengist of Woodcroft. Hengist set up his hog farm in a meadow in the place the new settlers could barely pronounce as _Ograch-Meadach_, and that's when the etymology got really messy.

Normally the bridge would have offered a nice view over the Forbidden Forest to one side and the Black Lake to the other, but today an icy fog had settled into the bottom of the valley between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. A lighter fog all around kept me from seeing Shibley until she was almost on top of me.

In fog or mist ghosts look like a walking raincloud. In cold mist they look like snowglobes. Glittering slightly and leaving a trail of frost behind her, Shibley fell into place next to me.

''Were you able to Floo straight home?''

''Aye, th' Brounies hae it ready fur ye. Billy Blin speart if ye want tae ward-gate it, sae as only named fowk main floo in.''

''That's a good idea.'' As we came closer to the fairy tale castle I heard voices in the fog. A group of Fifth or Sixth Years passed us by on the path to the village. I didn't recognize any of them but they waved at me and I waved back.

''Did ye nae intend tae swatch at a flat aff Diagon Alley?''

''I changed my mind.'' Neville had described the flat to me. It had a Wizarding-style kitchen, which would mean I'd either have to eat out every day or buy a lot of expensive Charmed appliances and utensils. It was a one-bedroom as well, so assuming Shibley wanted to come with me that wouldn't give her any more space than she had now. And assuming she didn't want to leave Hogwarts, why would I move? ''I'll apply for a permanent residence here at Hogwarts. Hopefully I can get something where I don't have to share a bathroom with students.''

The great oak doors opened and let us into the relative dry of the entrance hall. I stopped in the doorway, startled by the circus someone had obviously decided to pitch in the hall.

A Riddle-fragment snapped and hissed at the Fat Friar, while he tried to comfort a student huddled up on the floor. Peeves darted through the air like an out of control bottle rocket, laughing and whooping at the scene below. And below Peeves and the Riddle ghost stood Belladonna Black, yelling at both of them and waving her wand like a drunken redneck brandishing a shotgun.

''Shibley, go help the Friar. Follow his instructions.'' I left Shibley to her work and walked over to the Riddle-fragment, ignoring Professor Black as she shrieked at Peeves.

Tom Riddle had feared death the way newborns fear birth, and had faced it screaming and crying. In life Tom Riddle had torn his self to shreds trying to achieve immortality. In death none of his many ghosts were whole. This one was all skin and bones, a torn hide over a broken skeleton. It's skin hung from it like old soft leather and its eyes were empty sockets.

''Hi Tom. Looks like you're having fun.''

When I spoke the Riddle-fragment turned on me, hissing and snarling. If it had been more whole I would have expected to see spittle on its lips.

''Having a boring day, Tom? Is that why the greatest Dark wizard in history is picking on an eleven year old girl?''

The thing howled and snarled, its transparent face only an inch or two away from me. It let out a string of rattling noises and long drawn out hisses.

''Isn't this just a bit beneath you? You really can't think of anything better to do with your time?''

Well no, what was left of Riddle probably couldn't think of anything better than bullying children. He had been bat-shit insane, after all. But the suggestion shut the ghost up for a few seconds. So long as it was paying attention to me and not the student...

''I mean, really, Tom. People used to be scared to say your name out loud. Now you're not even as scary as Peeves.''

The fragment shrieked. Rolling its head on its broken neck the fragment pointed its fingers between my eyes and opened its mouth impossibly wide. It said the first intelligible words I'd ever heard any of the Riddle-fragments say.

''_Avada_ _Kedavra_.''

''Sure, Tom. How many times has that backfired on you?'' Given the history and superstitions of the Wizarding World I could understand why its children were scared of this thing. But up against an adult Muggle it wasn't even as scary as a two year old throwing a tantrum. I risked a glance aside and saw that Shibley and the Fat Friar had lead the student over to the stairs. I took a deep breath to fight anger when I saw that the girl was one of my Purebloods.

''_Avada_ _Kedavra_ _Avada_ _Kedavra_ _.._.''

''Take a breath before you pass out, Tom.''

The fragment screamed again, a high-pitched screech of rage that stabbed into my ears and echoed off the entrance hall's stone walls. Its mouth opened wider, jaw unhinging like a snake's and skin ripping as it stretched. The jaw kept stretching open, a gaping maw that eclipsed the rest of its skull.

''Tom, you know this is just going to end with you Hallowlighted again. Is it worth the effort?''

The fragment suddenly darted away from me, jaw snapping shut. It looked at me with its empty eye-sockets.

''Go before you get hurt, Tom.''

It slithered away through the air, body swaying as though it were a water-snake. It 'swam' up the stairway, Shibley and my student flinching as it passed over them, and then it was away down the first floor corridor.

The Fat Friar was gone, hopefully to find help. Shibley seemed to be doing a good job comforting the girl, my First Year student Selena Spinks. I turned my attention back to Peeves and my colleague Professor Belladonna Black.

Showing the famed judgement skills of the Black family, Belladonna fired off a stream of silvery lightning at the cackling imp. Laughing like a cartoon character Peeves dodged. The silver blast hit the rail of the grand staircase, exploding into a rain of sparks.

Rolling in the air and chortling, Peeves easily dodged another bolt and mocked Black. ''Ooooh this is fun! Look at the professor jump!''

God, whose idea was it to leave a poltergeist running around a school full of young kids? Not that Black was much better. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Black gave up on trying to blast Peeves and took a swing at him when he came near her. Christ on crutches, what does it take to get someone banned from working with kids in the Wizarding World?

And now the disgusting little imp was picking its nose, while a Hogwarts professor shrieked incoherently and tried to throttle an indestructible spirit of pure chaos.

I bit my cheek and tried to carry on calmly. Shibley was trying to comfort Selena Spinks, while the pale girl sat hunched over on the stairs. Selena was crying incoherently as I sat next to her. She flinched when I sat down, so I scooted away an extra couple of inches. I hadn't thought I'd sat that close to her, but a lot of the students didn't seem to be comfortable with me yet.

''Hi Miss Spinks,'' I tried to keep my voice calm and soothing. ''That looked like it was pretty scary. Are you hurt?''

Hunched over and sobbing, the blonde girl still tried to glare at me. The effect was ruined by her wet face and the little bubble of snot at one nostril. I started digging around in my pockets while Selena struggled to catch her breath. ''I'm not - '' She gulped. ''Not a a a little - '' She took a deep burbling breath through her nose. _*Shnurk*._

I found my Kleenexes and offered her a couple before she could speak again. She snatched them out of my hands and blew her nose on one. Then she used the other to wipe her eyes. While she did that I looked over to Black and Peeves.

Black was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scowling like a sulky child. Peeves poked her in the side, laughed, and poked her again. ''Stop it,'' whined Black. Peeves poked her again. ''_Stop_ it.''

Lockhart, psychopathic Death Eaters, and Professor Belladonna Black. Obviously part of Hogwarts' mandate was to provide work opportunities for crazy people. It was the only way to explain their hiring decisions.

I looked back at Selena Spinks and caught her looking at me. She quickly looked down at the stairs. I offered her the rest of my Kleenex. She took them without looking at me, and said _thank_ _you_ very quietly. She muttered something that sounded like _I'm_ _sorry_, and blew her nose again.

''Are you hurt, Miss Spinks?''

''No.''

Peeves blew a loud raspberry at Black and vanished. Black stayed sulking on the floor. I shook my head and muttered ''Lunatic'' under my breath.

''They're all like that,'' said Selena. ''The whole family is wrong.''

Before I could say anything to that I heard a noise on the landing above the entrance hall. I looked up and saw the Fat Friar and Idris Isgar coming down the stairs. I patted Selena on the shoulder. ''Here's your House Father. Would you rather talk to him?''

''Uh-huh.''

I stood up and let Idris take my place. Against my better judgement I went over to check on Belladonna Black. She was still sitting on the floor, scowling and holding her head cocked at an odd angle.

Once I edited out phrases like _crazy_ _bitch_, _trigger-happy_ _lunatic_, _not_ _fit_ _to_ _work_ _with_ _minors_, and _mad_ _cow_, I realized that I really didn't have much to say to the dark-haired witch. Before I could decide what to say she scowled up at me, put her fingers on her lips, and then swept her wand through the air. ''_Finite_ _Disillusio_.''

I heard someone yelp in surprise and looked up. A wizard wearing a strange sparkling orange poncho stood by the half-open doors. He looked at Black and I with a shocked expression. I saw the boxy object in his hands, an old-school flip-top camera...

Yelling a string of words I hadn't used since Camp Permafrost I charged the photographer. He yelped again and took off for the doors, jumping through them just before I could get my hands on him. I chased after him just a few steps behind as we ran down the front steps and past a group of students.

I chased the photographer down the front path, almost close enough to grab the poncho as it flapped behind him. Just a couple more steps and...

''Up up up _up_!'' Yelled the photographer. A broomstick popped up from a pile of muddy grey snow by the path. The wizard and I both leapt at the same time, and I felt the slick material of his poncho slide between my fingers as he hit the broom. I stumbled trying to grab for the broomstick before he got out of reach, and then he was up and heading for the boundaries.

Bolts of red light streaked up into the sky, all missing the photographer as he flew away. I looked back to see Idris and Black casting Stunning Charms from by the doors. They shot a final couple of Stunners, then gave up.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Galilea sat behind her desk, tapping her wand on its clean surface and watching me as I paced behind Ron Weasley. He stretched out in his chair, tugging his jumper sleeves down over his hands.

''How's that adrenaline, mate? Just about worn off yet?''

''No, God damn it. Stop asking.''

Galilea spoke up. ''Geoffrey...''

I stopped pacing. ''What?''

''You have exactly thirty seconds to calm down.''

''I. Am. Calm.'

''Twenty seven seconds.''

Weasley snorted.

''What's so damn funny?'' I snapped at him.

''You two remind me of a couple I know. He's more of a sulker though.''

''Fifteen seconds.''

''God damn it...'' I took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled. I really was madder than I should have been. ''Yeah, all right.''

Galilea stopped tapping her wand and gave it a quick flick. Another chair appeared next to Weasley. I took the hint and sat down.

''I was looking forward to the zoo,'' said Ron Weasley. Dressed in jeans and a hideous red and yellow jumper, Ron Weasley looked surprisingly Muggle-ish. ''I haven't had a decent hot dog in ages.''

Tapping her wand on her desk, Galilea turned her attention to the Auror. ''You still think we need to cancel our date?''

''Yep. Sorry.''

Galilea place her wand on her desk. It kept tapping on its own. She put her hand over it to hold it down. ''I don't mind press attention,'' she said.

My foot started to jiggle uncontrollably, the nervous energy finding its way out. I tried to hold it still while listening to Weasley.

''It's not the attention, it's the way he got past the wards here. You've got good anti-Disillusionment wards up. They're enough to give an auror a hard time. You two wandering around a public area full of Muggles is enough of a security problem. If someone out there has developed a new type of Disillusionment Charm...'' He scowled. ''I'm really not happy this.''

I clamped a hand down on my knee. God, that jiggling was going to drive me crazy if I couldn't get it under control. ''All right. Is there anything you can suggest to improve the school wards?''

Weasley shook his head. ''Not until I know what we're dealing with.''

My twitch got worse. Galilea frowned at my jittering foot. She looked up towards the ceiling and spoke. ''Billy Blin, please send a Calming Draught.''

''Good idea. Thanks. I can't seem to stop twitching.''

''It's not for you,'' said Galilea. She let out an exasperated sigh. ''I apologize. I haven't projected like this in years.''

Ron Weasley laughed. ''Now that - '' He shook a finger at Galilea, who turned a bit pink. ''That is blatantly illegal. Familiarizing a Muggle.''

A tiny humanoid appeared on Galilea's desk. I recognized it as the head House Elf, dressed in a kilt and cloak made from blue dish cloths. He gave Galilea a corked ceramic vial, then bowed and disappeared.

''He is not familiarized,'' Galilea said. She was still blushing a bit. ''I just have a natural talent for projection.''

She uncorked the vial and drank its contents. My foot stopped jiggling immediately, and I actually felt calmer. ''What was that about?''

''That was your girlfriend being indiscreet with your nervous system.'' Ron snickered. ''And speaking of indiscreet... Holding hands under the staff table? How old are you two?''

''Oh,'' Galilea said calmly. ''I didn't realize the students could see that.''

My leg started twitching again. Ron crossed his arms and bit his lower lip. He looked like a man working very hard not to laugh. He raised his hand and held his thumb and forefinger close together. ''Maybe a little bit familiarized?''

''_Shut_ _it_,'' Galilea and I said at the same time. I managed to get my leg under control.

Ron just shook his head and snickered again. He pointed at me. ''Okay, all joking aside, you need Occlumency training if you want to sleep with a mentalist. And it can't come from her. Lucky for you I know a good one, and they want to meet both of you. Are you free for supper tomorrow at the Burrow?''

Galilea and I exchanged quick glances. ''I'm on supervisory duty tomorrow, but I'm free after five,'' I said. Galilea nodded.

''Great. Supper, sevenish. Do you know the Apparation marks for Ottery St Catchpole?''

''Unfortunately, no.''

''No problem. I'll pick you both up at seven.'' Ron stood up and grabbed his Muggle jacket off the back of the chair. ''We'll leave that team of Hit-Wizards on the grounds. I've told Hagrid about them, so they'll be safe from him and Grawp. You should speak to the House-Elves too. When it comes to detecting intruders, it's hard to beat a House-Elf. Headmistress, I need Apparation permission.''

''Granted. And you also have permission to Apparate to my office tomorrow between six-forty-five and seven o'clock.''

''Thanks. All right, see you tomorrow.'' He Disapparated out.

Galilea sighed. I looked back to see her propping her head up on her hands. ''No trip to London, another intruder on the grounds, possibly inadequate wards, _and_ I'm projecting like an untrained child.'' She shook her head.

''Tea?''

''Tea.''


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

The next morning found us back in Galilea's office, where a fresh stack of administrative paperwork lurked on her desk.

I wandered over to study the Sorting Hat while Galilea leafed through the short stack of papers. Whatever it was in those forms... ''You're still stressed about the Board of Governors, aren't you?''

''How can you tell?''

''I have a sudden urge to tap my foot. Don't worry about the Board. We have them exactly where we want them.'' The _chapeau_ _maudit_ sat on its shelf like a fat wrinkled toad, its folds arranged in a smirk of smug satisfaction.

''Do we? And if the Board decides to let you go and exercise the Obliviation Clause?''

''I thought we had a plan for that?'' I left the leather beast and walked over to Galilea. ''Don't tell me you're getting cold feet?''

''No. Are you?''

''Are you kidding?'' I wrapped my arms around Galilea. ''After your manoeuvres last night? I've never had my tactical options so thoroughly exercised before. And your oral examination skills are mind-blowing.''

Galilea squeezed me and then stepped back. ''I knew that this plan was going to get me in trouble as soon as I finished forging the Summoning Charms.''

''_You're_ in trouble? I'm the one who has insomnia attacks when his girlfriend gets PMS.''

''I thought I'd slept unusually well that night. Count yourself lucky I didn't project the cramping.''

Before I could think of anything witty to say to that, a dark figure stepped into the frame behind Galilea's desk. ''Good morning Headmistress, Professor Hunter.''

''Good morning, Headmaster Snape. Did you enjoy the flowers?'' I'd had the flowers sent on to Madam Bones' office, with a little note of explanation.

Dark eyes regarded me over a long hooked nose. ''The selection was... Garish.'' His voice was cool and ironic. ''And I think your message got a bit muddled in the sending.''

''Maybe. What did you get?''

''Viscaria, ragged-robin, and nasturtium.''

''The florist got my order right. Any muddled messages are probably because I only spent ten minutes with the flower-meanings book.''

The look he gave me was so dry you could have used it to drain a slough. ''You've hardly spent any time in this world. What do you think you're up?''

''Why Headmaster, are you asking me to dance?''

The dry look went ice-cold. ''I'm done with 'dancing', as you put it.'' He turned quickly, robes fluttering dramatically, and stalked out of the portrait.

I turned back to Galilea. She looked a bit exasperated. ''Geoffrey, please try not to irritate too many of my predecessors. I value their advice.''

A voice called out from the other wall. ''I wouldn't worry about Severus,'' said Albus Dumbledore. ''He's fascinated by this turn of events. He just needs to be... Wooed. As for Phineas, he enjoys a good shouting match.''

Galilea winced slightly. ''Thank you, Albus. I'll give your opinion all due consideration. And speaking of being wooed, Geoffrey, it's time for you to take me to breakfast.''

I offered her my arm. As we entered the spiral stairwell Dumbledore called out one last time. ''Oh, and Professor Hunter? Those trousers look absolutely fabulous on you.''

Galilea laughed all the way down the stairs.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

The Great Hall was about as quiet as you could expect in a room packed with over a thousand kids. Belladonna Black ignored me, Rebecca Lestrange wasn't hung over, and Rubeus Hagrid and Sybill Trelawney both showed up for a change. The newspapers were full of minor scandals and sports news. Idris told a funny story about his oldest daughter, due to start at Hogwarts next year, and a First Year Hufflepuff came to the head table to give Galilea a picture he'd painted.

Things got back to normal when a Ravenclaw girl with a bad stomach threw up on her friend.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

After a quick stop in my quarters for warmer clothes, I went about my rounds. I'd chosen my heavy wool shirt specifically to stand out from the crowd, and I found that as soon as the students saw the maple leaf tartan come into view they settled right down. Bright colours on a teacher send the same warning as yellow and black on a hornet: Don't make any sudden moves and you won't get hurt...

Sweating a bit in the wool shirt I made my way through the halls, keeping an eye out for trouble. I broke up a game of Exploding Snap in a second floor corridor, not because it was against the rules but because the boys were betting money on the hands. I penalized all their Houses nineteen points - one point per Sickle in the pot - and confiscated the coins for the staff party fund.

I found Shibley on my way out to the grounds. Over the previous night the thick mist around Hogwarts had transfigured itself to snow, and the grounds were covered with glittering whiteness that had yet to be trampled into mud. Shibley's transparent form was almost lost in the glare.

I pulled on my gloves, toque, and sunglasses and asked Shibley about her night.

''It waur guid. Ah spoke wi' Sister Regina an' she trysted tae gie Maggie aff mah back.'' With my sunglasses to cut the glare I could see Shibley smile. ''An' yer nicht, Master? Did ye sleep weel?''

''The Headmistress and I enjoyed a night of exhausting negotiations.'' I looked around the grounds. There were a few tracks in the snow, but most turned back to the castle. I followed the most persistent track, two sets of footprints in the snow that didn't appear to double back. ''Where are all the kids?''

Shibley stuck an arm out and wiggled her fingers, testing the air. ''It's a bit braw fur yoongsters, dornt ye hink?''

''It's barely past minus twenty. This is why you Brits don't have an empire anymore. Because you all got soft.'' The trail ran along the wall of the North Wing.

''Nae. It's coz we shipped aw th' nutters aff tae th' colonies. We mauna hae an empire nae mair, but haem is sae much quieter noo.''

The tracks led to an alcove in the wall of the North Tower, a bricked off old entrance, where a couple of teenagers were blissfully unaware of my approach. Snogging, necking, getting off with, call it whatever you want, it's against the rules for under-seventeens. I walked up to the alcove, not being particularly quiet about it. I was less than a yard away from the black-robed couple when I cleared my throat.

They jumped, flapping like a pair of startled crows. The boy tripped over his own feet, almost fell backwards, over-corrected, and then stumbled forward onto his girlfriend. The girl hit her head on the bricks with an eye-watering clunk. I grabbed the boy's shoulder to hold him steady before he could make things worse.

I pulled the two apart to have a look at them. Generic white kids - Brown hair, brown eyes, pasty complexions, bumpy English foreheads, both about thirteen or fourteen with Gryffindor patches on their robes. The only memorable thing about them was the look of terror on the boy's face and obvious pain on the girl's. I didn't recognize either of them.

''How's your head?'' I asked the girl.

''Git!'' She punched the boy's shoulder, making him yelp in surprise. ''This is your fault!''

He gaped at her like a freshly caught fish. ''My - It was _your_ idea!''

Before this could degenerate any further I stepped between the pair. ''Good news! You're both in equal amounts of trouble!''

I docked them each the regulation ten points for a first offence, then hauled the happy couple off to the hospital wing. Not only did the girl need to be checked for a head injury, the punishment for breaking the no-intimate-grappling rules would be administered by a school healer.

An hour long lecture on the reproductive system and Birth Control Charms, complete with clinical diagrams and hand gestures. In the open main hall of the Hospital Wing.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Inside and away from the snowglare, I could see that Shibley was nervous.

''Weel, if ye see, it's loch thes...''

I waited. And waited.

''Ah waur wonderin' if yoo'd min', it's mah shows, ye see...''

''Your shows?''

''Aye weel, it's Elsie an' 'er son, ye ken. They're havin' a terrible raw abit his lack ay wark, an' he's bin mopin' abit th' hoose an' it seems he stole a bit o' coin - ''

''Oh! You've been sneaking off to watch soaps!'' I put my hands on my hips and glared at her. ''Didn't you tell me that you're not supposed to go out unsupervised?''

She wrung her hands together. ''Aye, but it's jist th' strath, isnae it? Th' village is in th' strath, sort ay?''

I couldn't hold the glare. ''I'm joking, Shibley. Go have fun.''

''Och, thenk ye! Ah'll gang fin' th' Baron, he's bin gonnae oan his ain these pest weeks an' that's nae fin!'' She dove away through the floor and down into whatever corridor was below us.

It was definitely against the rules, the Muggle villages along the Old Military Road were not in the same valley as Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. But I wasn't about to take away her -

Wait.

''The Bloody Baron watches soap operas?''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI**

Making my way back to the grounds, I saw a familiar blonde figure on the stairs to the walkway between the West Wing and main building. Selena Spinks sat next to a stack of books. She had my Muggle Studies OWLs guide open in her lap, but it looked less like she was trying to read it and more like she was trying to set it on fire with her glare.

I sat a couple of stairs down from her, so I wouldn't loom over her. ''You've got a few years to memorize all that,'' I said. ''I think you're better off spending your weekends having fun.''

She closed the OWLs booklet. ''It's too bright outside.''

That was entirely likely. She was very fair, and the glare would probably hurt her eyes. ''Okay. Just don't spend all your time studying. Hogwarts is about making friends too.''

Glaring at me she grabbed her books and stood. ''My parents scored all Outstandings on their OWLs. I'm not going to let you ruin my scores just because you don't want to teach the right material.''

I could have docked her a few points right there, but I was curious about something. Watching her retreat down the stairs I asked what Houses her parents had been in. She said 'Slytherin' without looking back.

I thought about high-achievers and brittle children for a time, until I was interrupted by a girl running past on the stairs. She slipped, saved herself by grabbing the railing, and instead of pitching herself down the stairs pivoted into the wall knee first. The crunch made me feel sick.

Thank God she was just a little First Year. I carried her to the Hospital Wing, where the nurse was putting on a puppet show for my Romeo and Juliet. With anatomically accurate puppets.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI**

''_Sit!_ _Down!_''

The two boys on the floor didn't even hear me, too wrapped up in clumsily grappling and punching at one another. The rest of the Third and Fourth Years jumped at my voice. They'd all been too busy posing at one another or shoving to see me coming. Some of them looked ready to bolt. I grabbed shoulders and started pushing them down.

''I said _sit_! That means you, Selwyn! All of you!''

By the time I had the five spectators under control and sitting on the stone floor, the two who were at blows finally noticed my presence. They'd stopped punching, but neither was willing to be the first to let go. I glared at them until fear overcame anger and they both started to relax their grips. Then I yanked the two apart and manhandled them into sitting positions.

I kept my voice low and snarled at the kids. ''One. Thousand. Years. One thousand years of Wizarding history, and it all comes down to this. A pack of little children fighting like stray dogs over a scrap of meat! You disgrace yourselves, and you disgrace Hogwarts.''

One of the two who'd been on the floor opened his mouth. I levelled a finger at him a few inches from his face. ''Not. One. Word. You are both in enough trouble already. You will all be silent - '' I swept my glare across everyone there, forcing eye contact with every boy who wasn't already staring at the floor. '' - Until I order you to speak. Now you two, stand up and stand over there. I said, stand up! Don't make me repeat myself again.''

It took a couple of minutes but I finally got the bunch organized into something like a parade. I marched them through the halls at a good clip, growling orders at them when they started to slow down or try to mutter at one another. The two who had actually been at blows shared fat lips and bloody noses, which meant the little idiots had been punching one another in the head. When we got to the Hospital Wing I turned those two over to the healers and turned my own tender mercies on their friends.

One hundred and five House Points and seven detentions later I had the story, the standard adolescent tale of He Said But They Said And Then Someone Pushed And It's His Fault Not Mine. So far as I could tell the whole thing boiled down to someone not liking or maybe he did someone else's sister. I sent notes off to their Heads of Houses and told the kids they were all confined to quarters for rampant idiocy.

I'd like to claim that I hadn't been that stupid when I was their age, but I have the bone-fractures to prove otherwise.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I ran into my lovebirds again in the walkway leading to the main building. She was obviously still angry over getting caught and having her head cracked against the wall. He just looked confused while she complained at him.

''Well,'' I jumped in to interrupt the brewing fight. ''I hope you two learned the most important lesson here.''

Looking back and forth between me and the girl, he asked me what that was.

I shrugged. ''Don't get caught snogging on school grounds.''

The boy looked at her. ''How about outside the grounds?''

I confined her to the Gryffindor's girls dorm for the day, gave her a twenty-point penalty for fighting, and told her she had an hour's detention on Monday. I sent him back to the Hospital Ward to get his black eye healed.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

I followed Scorpius Malfoy around the North Tower towards the Quidditch Pitch. The boy wore heavy wool clothes, a thick jumper, his school robes, a scarf, and a fuzzy wool toque, and he still shivered in the cold. He babbled cheerfully about the weather as we approached a group of about a dozen First Years. Half the kids stood in a rough patch they'd cleared of snow, the rest seemed to be spectators.

'' - Not like home. It never gets so cold there.'' Malfoy stopped and gestured proudly at the assembled students. ''Here we are. That's Gryffindor Harry, and Buttercup, and Taurus, and Ron, and Lantana and Noctua, and Slytherin Harry, and that's Harry Too...''

He rattled off each kid's name without having to stop to think about them. I recognized a third of them from my classes, but the rest were new to me. Harry Too held a baseball bat, and a few yards away from him stood Ron holding a ball.

Malfoy went on cheerfully. ''You're American, and Slytherin Harry said Americans like baseball, so we decided to try a game and you can tell us if we're doing it properly.''

''I'm Canadian, actually. But I have played baseball.'' Harry Too and Ron waved to the audience and took their positions. I took a look at the field, checking out the positions of the players and spectators. ''Before you get started there are a few things - ''

You couldn't call what Ron did a 'pitch'. It was a crazy throw that just happened to go in the right direction. Harry Too swung wildly, twisting his back in a way that just had to hurt. The bat somehow managed to connect with the ball, driving it into a fast grounder along the rough field. Harry Too let go of the bat at the end of his swing and started to run...

The bat flew out into the spectators, smacking Noctua in the shin. She shrieked as she fell, and Harry Too looked back over his shoulder to see what was wrong. Just as he went sprawling over his own feet the ball popped up to hit Taurus in the face.

Once again I made the trek to the Hospital Wing while lugging eighty pounds of pubescent girl, this time with two crying boys in tow. Madam Bones threatened to Hex me if she saw me again that day.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

And then it was lunch, so I had an espresso.


	29. Chapter 29

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

''They're all suicidal. That's the only way to explain it.''

I leaned back on Galilea's cream-coloured sofa, resting my head against the cushions and rubbing my forehead. Madam Bones was a witch of her word, but fortunately none of her Hexes had been the permanent sort. By the time the students had got done with wounding each other Bones had hit me with antlers, beaver teeth, two-foot toenails, and an 'enhancement' that had nearly made me pass out from the loss of blood-pressure to my head.

''They're not suicidal, they're bored.'' Galilea emerged from her bedroom modelling her latest outfit, the corset-trousers-boots combo I'd first seen her in. ''The past few days have been too cold for the students to burn off any energy - ''

I laughed. Galilea rolled her eyes at me. ''Your opinion of the weather doesn't count, Mr Lived-In-The-Arctic-For-Three-Winters. The students will settle down as they find more constructive ways to spend their time indoors. What do you think of this outfit for supper?''

''Very edible. I like it, but the place will be crawling with students.''

Galilea went back into her room to change, leaving me in the living room. The Head Teacher's quarters are in a small tower that sprouts off from the main Head Teacher's Tower. This is architecturally impossible in a stone building, the walls aren't strong enough to bear the load, but oh well. A quarter of the round room was divided off for her bedroom and bathroom, with a fireplace set into the dividing wall. Her living space took up most of the space left over, with a little given to a small dining area and the stairs to the main tower. Galilea had decorated in Danish Modern, minimalist wood and fabric furniture in light colours. A few carefully placed rugs and wall hangings helped brighten the darker stone and wood of the castle itself, and a huge round window brought in south-east light. Other than the Great Hall it was the brightest space I'd seen at Hogwarts.

Around the walls were low bookshelves. I'd amused myself earlier by examining Galilea's reading materials, a mix of Muggle brain sciences, magical works on Legilimency and Occlumency, Buddhist and Taoist texts, and Charms Grimoires.

Galilea returned in a Muggle-ish outfit, a pink shirt and grey skirt and high heeled boots. She looked very secretarial, if you were hiring through the Playboy Temp Agency. Her top shirt button was undone and the second looked like it was just hanging on by a thread, and she could only take tiny steps in the skirt. And the boots... I checked my watch.

''Yeah, we've got time.'' I stood up and walked over to Galilea.

''Time for what?''

I crouched, pulled her over my shoulder, and stood up with a grunt.

''Geoffrey! What on Earth are you doing? !''

''Taking those boots up on the invitation,'' I said.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

We got cleaned up and downstairs just in time for Ron Weasley to firecall. He Apparated into the office a few seconds after Galilea confirmed we were ready for him.

''That has got to be the stupidest form of communication I've ever heard of. Who was the first person to look at a fire and think 'Hey, I should stick my head in there'?''

''If I had to venture a guess, most likely it was a salamander. A wizard or witch with a special talent for fire-manipulation. They tend to see and hear things in fires even without the use of special powders.''

''Huh. So are we ready, or do you need to change outfits again?''

''Hush,'' said Galilea. ''Or I'll let it slip over supper that you needed nearly an hour to choose your clothes.''

Weasley's eyes lit up. ''Oh, there's no way I'm not mentioning that.'' He looked Galilea and I up and down. ''At least you don't match. Took me ages to get Hermione to stop trying to coordinate our clothes.''

Galilea had finally settled on a simple black dress with a pink jumper and matching shoes. I'd gone with a green and gold shirt and dark trousers, and my now favourite belt and boots with chunky buckles. Ron Weasley...

It was hard to imagine anyone coordinating their outfit with Ron Weasley's red shirt, gold velvet jacket, orange scarf, and faded green trousers. Most Pureblood wizards had a truly horrific dress sense, but Ron looked as though he'd rolled around in a pile of laundry and worn whatever stuck to him.

Ron held out an arm for each of us. We stepped in close and then

we fell through nowhere and

we were outside a structure that could only have been built by magic. In the long shadows of twilight stood a crooked house with too many stories for its foundation, too many chimneys, additions stuck on at random heights and angles, and all the bits done in different brickwork or stone.

''Here we are,'' Ron said as he lead us towards the front door. ''Stately Weasley Manor. What do you think?''

''I think,'' I chose my words carefully, and remembering what my relatives had told me of class distinctions in the UK. ''That while the Malfoy's have money, the Most Ancient House of Weasley has class.''

''Don't let mum or dad hear you call us that. So far as they're concerned we're nothing at all like Those Sort of Purebloods.'' I could easily hear the emphasis he put on 'Those Sort'. He brought us up to the front door and stopped. Then he grinned at us. ''You two go on in and introduce yourselves. I have something I need to do.''

He took off running around the corner of the house. Galilea and I looked at each other. I shrugged and knocked on the door. After a bit of yelling and thumping the door flew open, spilling noise and heat out into the rural evening. A cute little red-headed girl in a green dress looked up at us.

Galilea stepped forward and smiled at the girl. ''Good evening, I'm Headmistress Galilea Grimward and this is Professor Geoffrey Hunter.''

Leaving the door open the girl spun around and let out an ear-shattering bellow. ''_Jaaaaames!_ _What_ _did_ _you_ _do?_''

A red-haired witch of about my age came into the doorway and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. ''Lily, I've told you once already not to shout.''

''Mum, the teachers are here for James.''

''These people are guests.'' She gave her daughter a gentle shove out of the doorway. ''Now shoo. And no more yelling. Don't make me tell you again.''

With her daughter out of the way the woman who could only be Ginevra Potter turned her attention to us. ''You must be Ron's guests, but where's he got to?''

We reintroduced ourselves and Ginny invited us in. ''Ron ran off around the back,'' I said. ''He said he had something he needed to do.''

''Hermione! Your husband's raiding the kitchen again!'' Easy to see where Lily got it from.

''He's your brother, you deal with him.''

The sitting room was a mass of noise and people, and most of those people had red hair. There were gingers on the couch and armchair, and leaning against walls, and over by the sideboard, seemingly growing out of every available space. In the sea of red I saw a few adults with brown hair, a dark-skinned woman with cornrows, a couple of tall blondes, and a small army of children in various colours. Harry Potter's dark hair was easy to spot in all that, especially as he now sported a truly ugly black beard. He sat next to a slender grey-haired woman wearing a muted Black Watch tartan dress.

Before Ginny could start on the introductions, a plump woman chased Ron out of the kitchen. ''Out! Wait until supper! And don't think I didn't see you grab that biscuit, young man!''

She pulled the biscuit from his grasp and handed it off to one of the children. Ron pointed an accusing finger at me. ''You ratted me out!''

''Of course I did. You've got my file, you know I used to be a big brother. Ratting people out is what we do.''

Ron shook his head. ''Terrible. What's this world coming to? All right, introductions then. Everyone, this is Galilea Grimward, Headmistress of Hogwarts, and this gentleman is her midlife crisis.''

''Ron!'' That came from a woman with thick brown hair and unusually good teeth for a Brit. Hermione Weasley, sounding more amused than annoyed.

''All right, all right. Geoffrey Hunter, meet the clan. Starting with the guests, that lovely lady next to Harry - That's Harry, by the way, you might not recognize him with that nasty growth on his face - The lady is Minerva McGonagall. That's Luna and Rolf drinking the sideboard dry, that's my father Arthur, my mum Molly's in the kitchen, you've met George, we're still not sure why Angelina agreed to marry him - ''

''For my money,'' said George. The black woman I assumed was Angelina rolled her eyes.

''Next we have Bill and Fleur, you've met Hannah, Neville, that's my brother Percy and his wife Audrey. And let's see, you'll have seen most of the kids at school, but that's Victoire, Bill and Fleur's daughter, and the youngest are Hugo, Lily, Trevor, Lorcan, Laudine, Fred, Lysander, Roxanne... I think that's all tonight.''

Including the half-dozen school-aged kids he hadn't introduced, there were dozens people jammed into the Burrow's living and dining space. The Weasley clan had to be truly huge if Ron could refer to a horde like that as 'that's all'. While I tried to memorize names Galilea stood on her tiptoes and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

''Minnie is an old friend. I'm afraid you're on your own for now.'' Galilea went over to talk to Minerva McGonagall, and Ron started herding me in the direction of the sideboard and drinks. Harry Potter gave Galilea the seat next to Minerva and met Ron and I by the sideboard. I knew Ron and Harry a bit, but I hadn't met the couple already pouring drinks. The woman had to be Luna Scamander, formerly Lovegood - Tall and slim, with slightly protuberant pale eyes under almost invisible blonde eyebrows. The man Ron had pointed out as Rolf was short, stocky, and had a mane of reddish-gold hair.

Ron made some quick personal introductions and then turned to talk to Potter. Rolf shook my hand as though he wasn't entirely sure how to do it - He gripped my fingers between his own, shook once, and then let go. ''Pleased to meet you,'' I said. He muttered something.

Luna seemed to be staring at a point just above my right ear, or possibly at my hair. I hadn't had it cut in a couple of months, so it was settling into a nice I'm A Professor I Don't Need To Groom mess. ''Oh, how nice. Is that a brineworm, Professor? It certainly matches Praereptor's description, but since he only copied Wildkyn's treatise and that's been lost it's rather hard to be certain. It's a shame about _Bestias_ _ex_ _Flamma_ _et_ _Eorum_ _Fines_, don't you think?''

''I'm afraid I don't know that work. Is it Wildkyn's treatise? And I have to admit, I don't know what a brineworm is either.'' And now I was being followed by invisible creatures? Or was Luna just another crazy researcher?

Luna reached out and wiggled her fingers by my ear. Her husband didn't seem to be paying attention. Instead he was focusing his full attention on sniffing his drink. ''It does have very well developed aurakles,'' said Luna. ''I think it likes your hair. Do you mind if I take notes?''

''Not at all. There's a lot of kids around, are brineworms dangerous?''

''I've no idea.'' Luna pulled a small notebook and pencil stub from her pocket. ''Praereptor copied _Bestias_ _ex_ _Flamma_ in Sixteen Sixty-Five, but the original was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. We should sit over there, so we don't disturb it while we're making observations.''

''Luna sees astral forms,'' said Rolf in a quietly soothing voice. Then he followed his wife across the room, where they settled in to stare at the area around my head and make notes.

''You took that well,'' said Potter.

''Meh. I've dealt with tenured professors. At least she didn't try to lick me.'' Unlike a philosophy professor I'd encountered at a truly miserable conference. I waved my hand by my ear. ''What's a brineworm?''

The corners of Potter's mouth twitched. ''No idea. Luna picks up on a lot of things other people don't.''

''Drink?'' Ron held up a shot glass and a bottle of firewhisky. ''It's just Ogden's Old, dad has rough taste in drinks.''

''That'll be fine, thanks.''

Potter poured his own drink, something green and oily. ''So Professor, how are you getting on at the school?''

''Geoffrey's fine. The kids are great. Far more disciplined than I expected.'' Well, except for the day's carnage. I resolved to put that down to cabin fever and try to forget about the whole mess.

We made a bit more small talk. Under detailed interrogation by the Aurors I revealed my lack of knowledge of Quidditch rankings and Devon's usual weather. Finally I decided to change the subject. ''Does your father still work in the Counterfeit Objects Office?''

Ron shook his head. ''Head of the Office of Muggle Commerce, under the Department of Muggle Affairs. You want to talk with him?''

''Sometime, yeah. But it's not urgent. I think he can answer a lot of questions I've got.'' I took a sip of firewhisky and watched the kids for a few seconds. They'd lost any interest they might have once had in the new guests. The younger kids were bouncing off the walls and furniture while the teenagers tried to look above it all. One small dark-haired boy stood apart from the noise, standing near the front door while watching the other kids. ''I wanted to ask you two about that reporter who snuck onto the grounds.''

Ron and Potter - I supposed I'd have to start calling him Harry, given the number of Potters running around the Burrow - traded glances. Harry shrugged. ''Not much to tell yet,'' said Ron. ''His name is Testudo Titch - Stop snickering, it's a good Wizarding name. He's a freelancer, sells his pictures to whoever'll pay the most. And we still don't know where he got that Disillusionment poncho.''

''That's a high-end artefact,'' said Harry, speaking through the World's Ugliest Beard. Black, patchy, bristly in front and curly at the sides. I felt a moment of pity for his wife. ''We checked through Hogwarts, and based on his OWLs there's no way he came up with that improved Disillusionment Charm. But he's not saying where it came from and we haven't gotten approval for Veritaserum or Legilimency-enhanced interrogation yet.''

''Are you still holding him? That seems like a long time for a trespassing charge.''

''Not for a possession of Dark artefacts charge,'' Ron put in. ''And that Charm's Dark Magic of the First.''

''Okay, what?''

''Ministry classification.'' Ron counted points off on his fingers. ''Dark Magic of the First Order, magic using Dark Force. Dark Magic of the Second Order, Forbidden Arts AKA the Unforgiveables. Dark Magic of the Third Order, illegal or unauthorized magics not restricted to the Unforgiveables. And then there's just good old Dark magic, which is anything that frightens the average ratepayer. But that last's not really an Auror problem, y'know?''

I thought about that for a minute. Broken down like that, it made sense out of the various references I'd seen to 'Dark Magics'. Partly a legal and social classification, maybe partly also a technical classification. ''Okay, that clarifies a lot of what I've read. But what's Dark Force?''

Harry answered that one. ''Dark Force is a different type of magic than what we do every day with our wands. It's not as safe as wand-magic, but it's not as rules-bound either. The only real rule with Dark Force magic is that you can't get something for nothing. And the price is never what you thought it would be.''

''You've met my brother Bill, right?'' Ron jumped in. ''Those scars on his face are as healed as they'll ever be. Dark wounds.''

''Right,'' said Harry. ''Using Dark Force creates what're called thought-forms, semi-independent or even fully independent entities that manipulate magic themselves. That's why the Ministry outlawed the Unforgiveables. Not only do you need to have the _intent_ to harm someone, you're using that intent to create things that exist solely to kill, hurt or dominate people.''

''So Bill's scars are alive?''

Ron took a drink and thought for a moment. ''Sort of like, yeah. The werewolf spirit is still trying to take him over. That'll never happen, he got treatment right away, but it'll never stop trying.''

Ogden's Old firewhisky is actually pretty smooth. If Ron thought his dad had rough tastes, then the younger Weasley had to be buying the good stuff at home. ''So how is this poncho-thing Dark magic?''

''Hermione's Office hasn't finished the analysis yet,'' said Harry. ''But that thing reeks of Dark Force. When we know how it was made, we'll have an idea who might have put it together.''

''Until then - ''

Galilea's voice interrupted me. ''Until then, I hope you've not travelled from one end of Britain to the other to talk shop.''

Technically, my only business was to teach Muggle Studies. ''No. No shop talk for me.''

Galilea and Minerva McGonagall had come over to join us at the sideboard. Along with them came Hermione Granger-Weasley, Head of the Office of Magical Police Sciences. She seemed to have gotten her famous hair under control. While still thick it was curly rather than bushy. She moved next to Ron and they each curved an arm around the other. ''And are you talking shop?''

''Maybe.''

''Break it up. Hugo and Laudine keep trying to sneak into the kitchen for sweets. Your mother needs back-up.''

Ron and Hermione wandered off. That left Galilea, Harry Potter, myself, and Minerva McGonagall. Even having seen nearly a century, that old witch had a back straight as an iron bar.

''It's an honour to meet you, Ma'am. I've read a lot about you, and Galilea speaks highly of you.''

She examined me carefully through her spectacles, her expression prim as she eyed me up and down. She kept that cool gaze on me for a long moment before finally turning to Galilea. ''I say keep 'im. There aren't a lot of eligible wizards his age about, and you're related to most of them.''

''Thank you, Minnie. As always, subtlety and tact are your calling cards.''

''You're welcome, dear. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Professor Hunter. You might not know this, but we've been trying for decades to bring in a qualified Muggle Studies teacher.''

I shrugged. ''Judging by the OWLs and NEWTs scores from that period, Charity Burbage seemed to know her stuff.''

Minerva looked a bit surprised by that. ''I don't remember her classes ever scoring terribly well. In fact, I think the Board complained about it once or twice.''

''The Ministry tests are a joke. I could score an Outstanding on the NEWT if I had a couple of weeks to memorize the Ministry propaganda from five years ago.''

Harry had been watching the conversation, standing a bit back with a slight smile on his face. ''Why from five years ago?''

''That's the usual lag time,'' I told him. ''From the time the Ministry decides on its latest attitude towards Muggles to the time that attitude shows up on the standardized tests. Allowing for glitches like Riddle, obviously. The Ninety-Six to Ninety-Seven school year NEWTs focused on economic relations between Muggles and the Wizarding World, with a secondary focus on Muggle-Wizard history, and that all came from Cornelius Fudge's campaign in Nineteen Ninety. That focus was replaced the next year by - ''

''Why Muggles don't really feel pain,'' Harry finished. ''How did you pick all that up?''

''It's in the Hogwarts archives. It only took a few days to go through the material and compare it to Ministry press releases. It's not like they tried to be subtle about it.''

Minerva's mouth twitched into a smile. ''And you feel Charity's classes didn't achieve high tests results because...''

''If you just memorize the Ministry propaganda and regurgitate it in essay form, you'll do fine. If you actually try to take that propaganda and make sense of it, you're in for a struggle because there's no sense to find. It looks like Charity knew the propaganda was wrong, but she didn't have the resources to find the truth. I have those resources, and I'm trying to pass them on to my students. There's a difference between Ministry propaganda and real Muggle life, and I teach real life in my class. But I also teach them the propaganda so that when it comes time for them to sit their tests, they'll know what lies to puke up on the page. And I've told them that outright.''

Harry scoffed. ''Are you accusing our beloved Ministry of putting propaganda above the truth?'' He gestured with his chin to something behind me. ''Geoffrey, have you met my father Arthur?''

I turned to see Arthur Weasley approaching our little group. A tall cheerful looking man in his 60s, nearly bald but still with a bit of colour to his hair. Although he was informally dressed, the cut of his shirt and trousers were close to a century out of date. ''Professor Hunter, I presume. Arthur Weasley. It's a pleasure to meet you.''

We shook hands, agreed to drop the formalities, and I complimented him on managing to fit three dozen people into a floor space meant for a family of five.

''Hermione helped with the Charms. Have you heard of Extension Charms?''

''Yes, but apparently they're a bad idea idea at Hogwarts. I asked why once but couldn't follow the explanation.''

Arthur nodded sympathetically. ''Don't worry, I was the same way with Muggle technology when I first started. Now, Molly wants to meet you but she's putting together the finishing touches in the kitchen. She asked me to bring you over.''

We weaved our way through the mob, dodging kids and greeting adults as we went. I nodded to Neville and Hannah, spotted James pretending that he wasn't checking out Galilea, and George mentioned that he wanted to speak with me after supper. ''Arthur, I didn't catch everyone's names in Ron's introduction. Over by the door, that was...''

''Trevor,'' Arthur said. ''Ginny and Harry's foster son. He's ten, and a bit sensitive about his height.''

_Ten?_ He was small enough that I would have guessed seven or eight. It was fairly obvious why he wasn't with his genitors. All I said was ''My father was too. Lucky for me I got my height from my mother's side.''

As usual for a witch's home, the kitchen was tiny compared to the Muggle version. Most of the mechanical work of cutting and stirring would be done by wand rather than hand, requiring a lot less elbow room. The Weasley kitchen was a flurry of last minute activity, with roast beef sliding onto a platter, Yorkshire puddings rolling off the cooking pan, dishes flying out of cupboards and stacking themselves on the counter, gravy pouring itself into a tureen... Molly Weasley stood like a conductor before an orchestra, short and plump and very much in control.

''Thank you, Arthur. Could you and George put the table out please. Hello dear, just give me a mo to finish up here...'' Swedes, parsnips, potatoes, and other vegetables plated themselves, and the kitchen settled to a halt.

The elder Mrs. Weasley looked over every platter and serving bowl. ''Well,'' she said, pronouncing it as a judgement. ''Ron says you've settled in nicely, but tell me dear, how are you doing? It must have been hard moving all the way over here.''

It wasn't my imagination. Ron had definitely invited me to have me checked out. Ron, Audrey, Arthur, Harry, Percy, Hermione... All Ministry employees. And almost all of the adults had been involved with the old Order of the Phoenix. On top of that, Molly Weasley hadn't said a word about her son dragging two guests in at the last moment. Not that she would have complained, no decent host really would, but she was also the kind of mother who wouldn't have passed up the chance to tweak her son about making more work for her. Time for just enough truth to pass the momterrogation.

''It wasn't all that difficult. To be honest, after my relationship with my ex fell apart I realized that all of my friends were actually hers. There wasn't much keeping me in Vancouver other than work.''

''And what did you do, dear?'' Only a British grandmother can make 'dear' sound formal.

''Whatever the tenure committee told me to.''

''_Where's_ _the_ _food?_''

''_Ronald!_''

Molly laughed. ''You go sit down. I'll be right out.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Dinner was served on a table that couldn't have been brought into the living room through any door. Yorkshire pudding, roast, assorted root vegetables, sage and onion stuffing, and gravy in a tureen large enough to baptise a child. I fielded a few more questions about my previous job, confused Hermione with Muggle academic jokes, and offered up some non-essential details about the Hunters in Scotland. Trevor, sitting quietly between Ginny and Luna instead of at the children's table, didn't pay me any attention until I mentioned that my parents were deceased. James, having apparently just graduated to the grown-up table, showered me with questions about the Muggle military. By pudding he was obviously bored of hearing about supply chain management and transport documentation.

''Didn't you do anything else?'' The boy asked.

I thought about it for a few seconds. ''I got sick a lot.''

''Oh. Sick from what?''

''It was a lot of different things, really. The base is part of Canada's Arctic defence network, and it was originally intended to house a battalion. But about a third of the way through construction the priorities changed - Politics mainly, but they also expanded a base that was closer to the local port, so they didn't need to put a battalion in any more. They downgraded to what was essentially a forward operating base - ''

Blank looks from everyone around the table, including the Muggleborns. Small words, Geoffrey.

''They laid pipes to support water and sewage systems large enough for twelve hundred people, but then they only built a structure large enough for about two hundred people. And since they left the extra pipes in place we had water problems all the time. Cholera, diphtheria, some other bacteria that they couldn't identify. They called in a biologist who said it was a previously undiscovered species. He got it named after him.''

''Oh that's wonderful,'' said Luna.

''My intestinal tract begs to differ. And on top of that, a lot of the money originally budgeted for Camp Permafu- Uh, frost, got redirected into expanding the larger base. So Permafrost was basically just a bunch of prefabricated huts. A prefab is a bunch of parts that can be put together quickly to make a building.''

''Are they any good?'' James asked.

''Not if you have to live in them for three and a half years. We had mould problems. The whole base should have been shut down, but every time the military tried the chickenhawks started screaming.''

Luna perked up. ''Chickenhawks?''

''Not an actual animal, sorry. It's a slang term for someone, well, do you have the expression 'Let's you and him fight'?''

''We've got those,'' said Ron. ''We call 'em Augureys. They make a lot of scary noise, but they can never back it up.''

James appeared to think all this over. ''The Muggle military sounds really stupid.''

Ginny caught my eye and mouthed _thank_ _you_.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

After the meal Percy Vanished the table and Arthur made the usual furniture reappear. The kids brought out various board games. George suggested snakes and ladders and Ginny glared daggers at him until he apologized. I cornered Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Arthur - All Ministry employees - and asked if they knew of any good sources for the history of the Ministry itself.

''I'm hoping you can recommend some good references on the Ministry's history and operations. How it works, how it started before Seclusion and how it developed.'' I nodded to Hermione. ''You must know the Ministry inside and out. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, then the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.''

Hermione watched me for a few seconds. I couldn't read her expression at all. Finally, in a flat voice she said ''I hate my job.''

''Uh...''

Her expression changed to one of revelation, her eyes wide and shining in wonder. ''I do,'' she said. ''I hate my job.''

Ron moved in and put an arm around her shoulders. ''I know, love, I know.''

''Ron. I hate my job.''

Ron started moving her towards the stairway. ''I know, love. Just been waiting for you to figure it out.''

I looked around at Harry and Arthur. Harry looked utterly unsurprised. Arthur watched, sympathy written across his face, as his son led his daughter-in-law up the stairs. Hermione's voice drifted down the stairwell. ''... hate my...''

''I... Uh...'' I cleared my throat.

Harry shrugged. ''She hates her job.''

''I'm glad she's finally worked that out,'' said Arthur. ''Do you suppose she'll quit?'' He sounded hopeful. Not sure if I should be feeling guilty or helpful, I edged away from the adults towards a clump of kids. Albus and Trevor were playing Wizard Chess while Lily and Galilea watched. It looked like a nice safe activity where there could be no unexpected revelations.

I knelt down next to the table, across from Lily and Galilea. Trevor watched me from the corner of his eye, but no one else seemed to notice my arrival. I watched the two dark-haired boys order their pieces around, a knight trampling a bishop and one unarmed pawn biting another to 'death', and let the Hermione Incident settle down.

Albus glanced up at me. ''How did you get Sorted into Slytherin, sir?''

Galilea laughed, startling the kids. ''Is that how the news leaked out? Geoffrey, which part of 'Don't mention the hat' did you not understand?''

Oops. ''I was with you right up to 'don't'.''

Galilea made a very unladylike snorting sound. ''If I ever find it in the budget to hire a press secretary, their sole task will be to follow you around with a rolled up newspaper in hand.''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

George held a small metal ball. ''So simple, even a Ministry Sub-Office junior assistant clerk could figure it out.''

Percy shook his head. ''Don't be too certain. It looks as though it has a moving part.''

I took the ball from George. It was about the size of a walnut, surprisingly light, and as Percy had said had a moving part. Specifically it had a tiny switch with four settings, labelled _O_, _I_, _II_, _III_. The switch was currently at _O_.

''The Ministry commissioned me to put together a demonstration model. They wanted something that was easy to use, could detect spells cast in an area, and reliably point out the caster. Took me three months to put this together.''

''Why didn't they go for it?'' I asked.

''After the fact, they decided they wanted something that would only cost fifty Sickles per hundred. I told them to go hug a Whomping Willow.''

''Yeah, that sounds like government procurement. How does it work?''

''It's an _Intelligo_ Charm tied to a bunch of Alarm Charms. 'O' is off. Any of the other settings will set off the Alarm if someone casts a spell within twenty feet of the... Thingy. I haven't actually given it a name yet.''

''Weasley's Warning Wailer?''

''Nice one, Perc. Thanks.'' George turned back to me. ''Don't turn it on here unless you want the Burrow to sound like a church steeple. The first setting makes a bonging sound and lights up the caster just bright enough to be seen in the day. Second setting is loud enough to be startling, and a bit brighter. The third setting will make the caster ring like a church bell, and the glare'll be obvious out to about five yards even in bright daylight.''

''Nice. So if I declare my class room a no-spells zone and put this on one or two... How much?''

''Now there's where the Ministry and I had a bit of a disagreement. That should be about twenty Galleons retail - ''

''Ouch.''

''Worth every Knut,'' George assured me. ''But in this case I had the initial market pulled right out from under me. So I figure if you tell people where you got it, I can count that as an advertising cost.''

I considered that. ''I'm not trying to be ungrateful here, but are you sure you want your products associated with Hogwarts' 'notorious Muggle'?''

George grinned. ''No problem. The real Blood proud types don't come into my shop, so it's no loss to me. And kids like to talk, so if you scare them a few times with Weasley's Warning Wailer - ''

''I get ten percent for marketing,'' said Percy.

''Three,'' said George.

''Done.'' At Percy's agreement, George looked a bit disgruntled. He obviously hadn't expected his brother to settle at that and was regretting not starting with a lower offer.

''All right,'' I said. ''I'll make sure everyone knows about the wonder-workers at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes - ''

A sudden roar of noise drowned out the rest of what I was saying. Most of the crowd cheered and laughed, and a few applauded. I looked for the cause of the celebration and spotted Harry coming down the stairs, face clean of black fuzz. Ginny followed behind him, smiling like a cat that had finished off a whole flock of canaries.

''Yes, all right, all right. Nothing to see here, move - '' A second wave of laughter cut Harry off. Still on the stairs, Ginny turned her husband around to rub her cheek across his.

''Oh that's better,'' she said. ''I can't believe how old you looked with that nasty thing.''

''I was hoping to look younger.'' Harry seemed a bit disgruntled. ''Snape was older than me and he wasn't greying yet. He must've used Dyeing Charms.''

Minerva McGonagall spoke up from her spot on the sofa. ''Severus had his share of the white coming in. You were never looking, is all. Now I think of it, they started around Christmas of 'Ninety-One. I wonder what happened that year to make the poor man go grey?''

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

Those families with young children had left for the evening, and the crowd was down to half its former size. For that matter, the room seemed smaller as well. I approached a small knot of kids by the sofa. Louis and Trevor tried to warn James with eye movements as I came up behind him. He was busy pretending that he Wasn't Looking at Galilea.

''She's too chuuuh...'' His voice trailed off as he realized I was standing right next to him. He looked sideways up at me, face stuck in a nervous smile. ''Er...''

''Curvy,'' I said. ''Remember that word. It'll save you a lot of trouble when you start dating. Curvy.''

''Curvy. Sir.'' If he could've used magic to melt into the floor or Apparate away, he would've. I wandered away to leave him in peace.

**IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO**

It was down to immediate family, Minerva, and Galilea and I. Galilea and Minerva were saying their good-byes while I did the same with Ron and and his wife. Hermione still seemed to be shaking off the effects of her self-revelation.

Galilea and I finally made it out the door, out of the much-shrunken front room of the Burrow and into the cool September night. Galilea shivered and quickly Apparated us to her quarters.

''That was a successful night,'' I said while Galilea brought the wall torches to life (Torches! Dear Wizarding Britain, please join the rest of us in the 21st Century. _R.S.V.P_.). ''I think we've got the Weasleys on our side now. I'd hate to have that mob against us.'' I frowned, remembering something. ''Didn't Ron say he wanted to introduce me to an Occlumens?''

''I suspect that was a ruse.'' Galilea stepped in for a quick cuddle. ''I've discovered that Xenophilius Lovegood - Must you giggle every time you hear a Pureblood name? Luna's father sold the Quibbler to Dennis Creevey, and then retired to the south of France with his new wife. Creevey sold the paper to Parkin Spungeon - Cut that out. And the Spungeons are closely related to...'' She paused dramatically. ''Your friends the Cornfoots.''

''Hmm. Something to check out. Later.'' We enjoyed a minute or two of gentle snogging, but I broke away before the temptation got too much. ''I should go. This is our first night in the new quarters, and I should check on how Shibley's settling in.''

''It's my own fault, I suppose. I should have had Neville set that perfume to allow for someone a little less responsible.''


	30. Chapter 30

It's not every morning you find a mob on your doorstep. Galilea was a welcome surprise, but I certainly hadn't expected to see a contingent of ghosts in the stone corridor. The Bloody Baron, the Hanged Lady, and the Fat Friar hovered behind the Headmistress.  
>I kept an eye on the others while I gave Galilea a quick kiss. No perfume today, instead she smelled of warm skin and soap...<br>Maybe that's not the most polite way to have greeted all the others, making them wait while Galilea and I sucked face, but if you show up on my doorstep first thing in the morning I don't feel the need to be polite to you.  
>''Gie a room ye tois.''<p>

Galilea, as always, looked spectacular. Shibley rolled her eyes when I said so.  
>"Are your new quarters to your liking?"<br>"They're great," I told Galilea. "They'll be even better once I get them organized and have room to move around."  
>The new quarters were larger than my former room in the East Wing, but not by much. They were close to the Slytherin Dungeon - Dungeon being used in its old sense of 'rooms in the basement' - and the stairs that led up to the entrance halls. At the front I had a long, narrow office with a couple of filing cabinets but no other furniture yet. The door from the office opened into a main living area with two small windows. I'd blocked off a sleeping area with privacy screens, and the rest of the space was occupied by two wardrobes so I would finally be able to unpack, a coffee table and a couple of chairs, bookshelves, and more boxes and suitcases than I remembered packing. There were two other rooms off the living area, a bathroom and a large closet with a window. I'd turned the walk-in closet over to Shibley.<br>It wasn't much by modern standards, but she'd grown up in a one-room stone house that also doubled as a barn in the winter. Later she'd lived in a school where she'd shared a room with four other girls. And it seemed the Grey Sisters kept more-or-less normal monastic habits. A six-by-eight room gave Shibley more space of her own than she'd ever had.  
>"You're just around the corner from the Dungeons," Galilea said. "I'll instruct the students to come to you when they need adult assistance."<p>

"Will there be any trouble with the Board over that?"

"Possibly," Galilea admitted. "But if they do decide to make an issue of it, that will simply bring them into line with my plan to reinstate the residency requirement for Heads of the Houses. And there are other quarters available. These are simply the most convenient."

"Well played. So what brings you here so early?"

Galilea glanced at the assembled ghosts. "We can discuss it in my office."  
>"Okay, give me a second." I turned to speak to the ghostly presence. Three out of four of the House Ghosts were there, and they'd drifted away a bit down the hall to speak with Shibley. "Shibley, will you be all right?"<br>"Aye, Master Geoffrey. It's nae but a ghostly matter."  
>"Don't keep her too long, lady and gentlemen. She has homework."<br>"Och, sae borin'..." Muttered Shibley.  
>"It's not supposed to be exciting, it's homework. Have a good day, and don't forget we've got an appointment for Second Period."<br>The ghosts left through the opposite wall, which I thought might lead them into the storage cellars next to the Slytherin boys' dormitory. I locked my door and Galilea and I went left down the old stone corridor. We passed the passageway to the Slytherin Dungeon on our way to the stairs leading up to the ground floor. There were only a few students up and about at that hour. I warned Severus Taylor to take his nose out of his book before he tripped on the stairs, but otherwise the students were too groggy to be aware of the adults.  
>On our way up the marble staircase from the ground floor Galilea brought up Hermione Granger-Weasley. "I'm not quite certain what happened, but it didn't seem to be a surprise to many."<br>"Yeah." I scratched at my goatee, thinking. "Arthur Weasley even seemed relieved to see it. Whatever it was must've been a long time coming."

Following Galilea we turned left at an intersection where I'd previously turned right to get to her office. We passed a beautiful example of Anglo-Saxon craftwork, a Medieval triptych framed in magnificently carved wood panels. Thanks to my recent crash-course in magical history and refresher work in general British history, I recognized the scenes as Saint Merlin's fall into madness. Odd really, given that Myrddin Wyllt was a Celtic folk-hero and this entire section of the castle hadn't been built until centuries after the Anglo-Saxon period.  
>"I can understand a certain degree of work-related frustration," said Galilea. "I've two meetings scheduled this week on school security, a presentation on Floo Network safety for children, preparations for an educational conference I can probably get out of - Knock wood - and then the preparations for the DME's Halloween formal toast to the king. No getting out of that short of a disaster."<br>"We could go on another date," I said. "If it goes as well as our first..."  
>A random neuron fired in my brain. "Wait. Toast to whom?" I'd been under the impression the Ministry was at least nominally loyal to the Crown, so who was this 'king'?<br>"The King Over The Sea," Galilea shook her head. "A Muggle in France, I believe. Or Germany."  
>"Jacobites! You're all a bunch of Jacobites!" I stopped dead in the hall, with Galilea staring at me.<br>"_What_ is a Jacobite?".  
>"You! The whole damned Ministry! My God, this all makes perfect sense!"<br>"You lose that mid-Atlantic accent when you're excited," said Galilea.  
>"Forget my accent! This is amazing! A hidden village in Scotland, a secret school, code-names for the regions you live in - By the way, 'Saint Catchpole' is a dead give-away. A Ministry that claims loyalty to the Crown but virtually ignores the current government. <em>Of<em> _course_ you're Jacobites!"  
>"You're just a bit too excited to explain, aren't you?"<br>"Damn right I'm excited! This explains the utter lack of historical curiosity in History of Magic regarding the end of the Stuart era! It's like nationalist Muslim scholars trying to ignore the impact of European circumnavigation of Africa, or Southerners who claim that slavery wasn't the primary cause of the US Civil War. If you don't like the outcome of a particular historical event, you try to rewrite or ignore it. Bagshot completely ignores the de facto separation of the Ministry from the rest of the government under William and Mary. Why? Because you lost the war, that's why! Because '_we_ _don't_ _talk_ _about_ _The_ _Unpleasantness_'!"  
>"Well, we certainly don't shout about it in the middle of the hallway."<br>I gave myself a shake and tried to settle down. "Sorry. Lead on."  
>We walked the rest of the way to the tower without me saying a word. A History Of Magic, with Annotations by Professor G.P. Hunter, PhD., M.A. - Oh, and I could use the same research for a general-audience book! The Magical Handbook of Muggle History. Yes, and articles. I could get at least a half-dozen articles out of this...<br>"Geoffrey? We're here."  
>"What?" I looked out from my plans and saw that we were at the entrance to Galilea's tower. Galilea already stood in the entryway, waiting for me. "Right, stairs. Yeah."<p>

The papers on Galilea's desk were piled higher than they'd been the night before. "I see the Paperwork Fairies have been by. They visit Muggle offices too."  
>"Hah," said Galilea without a trace of humour. "My theory is that documentation breeds when no one is looking."<br>She summoned a chair for me. A trolley with mugs and a large steaming pot of tea appeared by her desk. "Milk, Geoffrey?"  
>"Black, please."<br>"So what happened to bring you downstairs so early?" I asked while the tea poured itself.

"An urgent early-morning owl from Ron Weasley. Among other things, he apologizes for forgetting to mention that his wife is a qualified instructor of basic Legilimency and Occlumency. She is willing to work with you, but she needs a week before before she can even think about scheduling."  
>"What exactly is involved with Occlumency training?"<br>"Quite a bit," said Galilea. "The simplest way to describe it is as a serious of extremely personal interviews about emotionally charged subjects, combined with intensive memory training. I recommend at least one private conversation between the two of you before you decide. And I suggest you have Professor Trelawney look over your horoscopes."

"Fortune-telling works?"

"Of course. Although we do sabotage Muggle practitioners before they achieve any real proficiency. It's merely one more example of how the International Statute of Secrecy has corroded our ethics."

"I'd... Love to pursue that, but you said there were other things in Ron's letter."

Galilea nodded. "Yes, although he was wonderfully vague about the other matter. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has decided to assign more Hit-Wizards to school security. Apparently they've had some success in tracking the movements of our third attacker, the one that you cooked -"

"_I_ didn't cook anyone! George Weasley's underwear did that!"

"A fair point. They've tracked that gentleman's activities, and whatever they've learned has lead them to increase our security. Unfortunately they obviously don't see any need to share what they have learned."

I thought that through. "So why send an urgent owl first thing in the morning? It's not really telling us anything that can't wait. That just doesn't seem very Ron-like."

I set my empty tea cup down on the saucer, and they floated back to the trolley. "Okay, Ron gets in to the office - No, it's still to early for that. How long does it take for a magical owl to fly from the south of England to Hogwarts?"

"Days," said Galilea. "But the owl-post system was reformed early in Shacklebolt's first term. Owls travel by Floo between postal offices, and then fly out from the office to deliver their messages. But even allowing for expedited handling of an urgent message, it would take at least an hour."

"So oh-dark-hundred Monday morning after a big night with his family, Ron jumps out of bed and sends us a totally non-urgent message that could have waited until later in the day, and he slaps extra postage on it to make sure it gets here as soon as possible."

Galilea sighed. "I was rather hoping that I was over-reacting to this message."

"No, I really don't think you are. Something must have got Ron up that early, it's important enough for the DMLE to boost the patrol around the school, and even if he can't tell us directly what it was he clearly thinks we need to be aware of... Something."

"Well, there's my breakfast ruined. I'll have to call Professors Longbottom and Fairbairn in for a meeting." Galilea shook her head. "School matters mean you won't be here for the meeting. Charles has asked to speak to you over breakfast. I believe it's to do with your meeting with the Board of Governors."

Galilea had placed Deputy Headmaster Charles Theobrosan in charge of official matters regarding myself and school discipline. So on top of whatever had Ron Weasley had just dropped on me, I had a breakfast meeting regarding my prospects of continued employment...

"When you think about it," I said. "This day is really being extremely polite."

Galilea arched an eyebrow at me. "Is it?"

"Oh yeah. It's not every day that gives you such an early warning that it's going to completely suck."


End file.
